


Of Bright Stars and Dark Skies

by CassioP



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Child Abandonment, Drama, First Age, Found Family, Gen, Kidnapping, Maglor tries his best, Misunderstandings, Third Kinslaying (Tolkien), slow burn found family, they have Got a long way to go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:55:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26378416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CassioP/pseuds/CassioP
Summary: When the kinslayers bring death and destruction to Sirion, two sets of brothers meet in the midst of the burning Havens.Elrond and Elros, the young half-elven princes, are taken captive and brought across Beleriand by the figures of their worst nightmares. Maedhros and Maglor, oathbound and dispossessed, haunted by their crimes, find themselves having to care for the children whose home they laid ruin to. In the cold halls of Amon Ereb, it turns out that not everything is as it looks, that good can come from evil, and that even the deepest divides can be bridged.In which Elrond and Maglor tell their story, from enemies to family, from the kinslaying at the Havens to the rise of Gil-Estel on the western sky.
Relationships: Elrond Peredhel & Elros Tar-Minyatur, Elrond Peredhel & Elros Tar-Minyatur & Maedhros | Maitimo, Elrond Peredhel & Elros Tar-Minyatur & Maglor | Makalaurë, Elrond Peredhel & Maglor | Makalaurë, Maedhros | Maitimo & Maglor | Makalaurë
Comments: 52
Kudos: 87





	1. I - The Havens of Sirion

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for clicking!  
> First of all: I don't own the Silmarillion at all  
> Second of all: For this story, I'm going with the canon where Amrod survives Losgar and Gil-Galad is Fingon's (probably adopted) son  
> I hope you enjoy it <3

When the first letter arrived, Elrond was in his mother’s study playing with his brother Elros on the soft rug. The message was addressed to Elwing, their mother, and made of thick expensive parchment. The tengwar was elegantly rounded, the seal showed an eight-pointed star.

He didn’t understand its significance at first, why his mother’s face went pale with fear as she looked upon the letter. Elwing read it quickly, then folded it, as if to hide the words away. Elrond noticed how her hands shook as she stuffed it in a drawer. Then he heard her whisper “Maedhros,” and terror took root in Elrond as he realized who the letter had come from.

 _They’ve found us_ , he thought to himself, fear twisting in his gut. _The kinslayers have found us._

Their mother had always attempted to spare them, to protect their innocence. They were, after all, only six years old. But they’d heard the horror stories of the massacre at Doriath, where the cruel Sons of Fëanor had slain their mother’s parents, King Dior and Queen Nimloth, and left her brothers to starve to death in the woods.

They were after the Silmaril, the prize that Elrond’s great-grandparents had wrestled from the crown of the Black Enemy, the treasure that Elwing had held as she fled Doriath, the jewel that was said to bless their seaside settlement and keep their ships safe. They would stop at nothing to have it, Elrond had heard told. They were without conscience. In pursuit of the Silmaril, the Sons of Fëanor would raze Sirion to the ground.

The next day another letter arrived. And a third one the day after that. Then a fourth one. Soon mothers told their children to stay inside. More guards than ever patrolled the cobbled streets. Elwing summoned the town's council for meetings that to Elrond seemed endless. Afterward, she'd come and brush Elrond and Elros' hair and kiss their cheeks before putting them to bed. Her bedtime stories were the same ones, but there was a new lost look in her eyes. It felt as if she, like all of Sirion, were holding her breath. All of the Havens dreaded the day when the Fëanorians would stop asking nicely.

“If only _Adar_ were here,” Elros whispered to him one night as they were lying in bed side by side. Elrond had been thinking the very same, maybe their father could come back and protect them all. They both knew it was nothing but wishful thinking. Eärendil the Mariner was far away on the sea.

That night Elrond lay awake and heard his mother and her advisers discuss their options once again in the adjacent room. “We’ve sent the plea for aid to Lord Círdan and High King Gil-galad on Balar, my lady, but their fleet can’t possibly reach us in time. The elves and men of Sirion stand alone.”

Elrond suppressed a whimper. The High King had been their last hope. The Havens of Sirion was no military stronghold. The exiles from fallen Doriath and Gondolin who dwelled there were crafters and fishermen. They had few warriors, nothing like the infamous Fëanorian troops that had once held the Enemy besieged in the east.

“I will not surrender anything to my father’s murderers,” Elwing’s voice was unwavering.

“The people of the Havens will stand by you to the end, princess Elwing.”

“Let’s pray it doesn’t come to that. We’ll evacuate the city at first daylight.”

Elrond clung to his mother’s words. They’d flee at first daylight. Launch every last ship so that the kinslayers couldn’t follow them. They would be safe, him, and Elros, and _Naneth_ and all of their people. With this comforting thought, he finally fell asleep.

Outside Sirion, something was stirring. An evil power was awakening. The Sons of Fëanor came before the dawn.

***

In the Fëanorian camp, Maglor, second son of Fëanor, was pacing aimlessly back and forth. There was no rest to find when the oath was at play. Across the tent, his brother Maedhros was fidgeting with the claps on his prosthesis, his brows furrowed as he awaited Elwing’s correspondence. As the eldest of the House of Fëanor, the final decision would fall to him.

Maglor had stood by Maedhros as he’d withheld this particular choice for decades. Maedhros had ordered them all to let Dior’s daughter be, though they’d both known it was only a matter of time before their oath would drive them to Sirion. Now they were camped outside the Havens with what was left of their army and Maglor wished fervently to be anywhere else in the world.

Amrod and Amras, almost identical and ever inseparable, returned from their patrol with somber expressions on their faces. “Nothing,” Amrod answered Maedhros' questioning look. “I don’t believe we’ll hear more from her.” The four of them exchanged solemn glances. They all knew what this meant.

“She may yet change her mind,” Maglor said, not believing his own words for a second. They’d done nothing these past days but lie to themselves: _Elwing might agree to negotiate, she has a family to protect. The people of Sirion value their lives… If they would just give us the damn jewel!_

Elwing was her father’s daughter through and through. There was no way she would accept their claim to the Silmaril. None who laid hand on one of their father’s greatest creations would ever willingly part with it. Once again they would have to take up arms against their kin. They'd send no more letters pleading for a peaceful solution. Any moment now, Maedhros would order the attack.

Maglor shuddered as he remembered their disastrous assault on Doriath: Elvish steel meeting elvish steel, Sindar against Ñoldor in nightmarish chaos, countless lives lost, three of his younger brothers lying dead in pools of their own blood on the floor of the glittering caves. And it had all been in vain, they’d failed to recover the Silmaril. It had gone exactly as the Doom had foretold:

_“Their Oath shall drive them, and yet betray them, and ever snatch away the very treasures that they have sworn to pursue.”_

But not this time. This time they would take their birthright back. They had to.

Maedhros rose, his face an expressionless mask. “We cannot linger for much longer. Gil-Galad’s host will soon be on their way. We do not have the strength to fight both Sirion and Balar”

 _And you do not wish to have to face Fingon’s son on the battlefield_ , Maglor added in his thoughts, recalling a time when Maedhros was younger and less burdened and always found in the company of the half-cousin who had been dearest to his heart. Now Fingon was long-dead, crushed into the ground at the Battle of Unnumbered Tears as Maedhros’ Union fell, and it seemed like part of Maedhros had died with him. He had never been the same again.

 _We are nothing but shadows of ourselves_ , Maglor thought as they made their final preparations. _The walking dead. A pale and twisted version of what we once were._

“I’ll inform the captains.” Maedhros continued “Amras, go rally the archers”

That left Amrod and Maglor in the tent, donning Fëanorian red and fastening their armor. “Let me,” Maglor offered as he noticed Amrod struggling to braid his copper-red hair back. He carefully removed his travel harp from the nearest stool so that Amrod could sit and began braiding his hair with practiced hands.

He’d done this for all his younger brothers when they were little and a few times for Maedhros too, shortly after his rescue from Thangorodrim, when he hadn’t yet adjusted to braiding one-handed.

“I remember how you used to play that in the Great Square in Tirion” Amrod gestured towards the harp. His voice was soft as he spoke of their homeland. Perhaps, unconsciously, he’d spoken in Quenya, the mother tongue they’d all but abandoned long ago when it was banned. “The crystal stairs shining in the treelight, the crowds of people flocking by and your music enchanting all of them.”

Maglor tried not to reminisce about Valinor. It was too painful, too many memories filled with people he would never see again. Amrod had nearly been one of them, their mother had begged their father to let the twins stay with her. But in the end, all seven of them had gone with Fëanor to Beleriand, where war and violent death had awaited them.

“I’ll play you something. Anything you’d like.” Maglor promised his little brother as he secured the last braid. “Once we return with the jewel.”

They left the tent and joined Maedhros and Amras at the front of the host. There were no speeches or rallying battle cries. The four remaining Fëanorian brothers and their followers marched towards the Havens in silence.

 _If only I could be free of this,_ Maglor thought. _If only I could free my brothers from this._ He then pushed the thought away as he drew his dual swords. _There’s a Silmaril in that town, that is all that matters._ All that mattered was fulfilling the oath they had sworn.

He would do it. For his father. For his brothers. For the oath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Stay tuned for next chapter! Comments and kudos will make my day :)


	2. II - The Third Kinslaying

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! So, in this chapter there'll be some quotes from the Oath of Fëanor as it is stated in The History of Middle-Earth, They'll be in italic as well as quotation marks.
> 
> I'm mostly using the Sindarin names, but a few Quenya names snuck in. Maedhros is Nelyafinwë Maitimo and Maglor is Kanafinwë Makalaurë 
> 
> A whole lot of stuff happens in this chapter! Hold on tight, I really hope you like it :)

Elrond and Elros were woken by the warhorns, the screaming, and the loud metallic clanging of sword against sword. At once, Elrond’s chest grew tight with dread. The kinslayers had come! The young twins ran to their window and watched in shock and fear: Everywhere they looked red-cloaked soldiers were advancing. Wooden houses stood in flame and corpses filled the streets.

Suddenly, their bedroom door opened with a slam and their mother came storming into the room followed by a group of the town’s councilmembers. Around her neck, Elwing wore the Nauglamír, the necklace wherein was set the jewel that had brought all this destruction upon them. Even now it shone with a bright and brilliant light.

“There’s no ship for them to leave on, my lady. They’ve cut off every path to the docks.” The elf Elrond recognized as the harbormaster had a trembling voice and a blade in his hand. 

“We’ll die before we let them harm you or your sons.” said one of their mother’s lords. A former warrior of Gondolin, equipped with longsword and bow. “And hopefully we’ll be able to take the kinslayers with us.” 

“All to their posts,” Commandeered Elwing and drew Elrond and Elros into her arms.

Tears were streaming down their mother’s face as she stroked their hair and kissed their cheeks. “I love you so so much.” The three of them held on to each other, and Elrond wished it could last forever. “Dolthriel will hide you. Promise me you’ll take care of each other.”

Dolthriel, one of the young girls who served their mother, took their hands in hers. They were hurrying up the winding stairs when they heard it: The loud crash of the Fëanorians breaking through the front door. 

They ran to the small room at the top of the tower where a balcony overlooked the sea. A year ago, Elrond and Elros had stood there with their mother, joyful as they saw their father’s ship, the Vingilótë, appear on the horizon. Now they held onto each other and panted for air as Dolthriel hid them away in a broom closet. “Don’t make a sound.” She said to them before closing the door. “I’ll protect you.”

Elrond lost track of time as he clung to his brother in the small tight space. _How did it come to this?_ He asked himself. _Are we going to die here?_

He could hear the distant sound of battle from the lower floors. He could hear the crashing of the waves far below them, ever-present background noise in seaside Sirion. But suddenly another familiar sound was approaching: their mother’s hurried footsteps on the stairs. _Were they winning? Had she come for them?_ Carefully Elrond pushed the door slightly ajar.

The sun had risen and light poured into the broom closet. Through the narrow opening he watched his mother run into the room, and out on the balcony. He had never seen her like this. She was still wearing the Nauglamír around her neck, but she looked defeated, in anguish. All hope abandoned Elrond when he heard more people rapidly mounting the steps. 

When he laid eyes on his mother’s pursuers he clasped his brother even tighter. His skin was crawling. His eyes were wide with horror. Maedhros the kinslayer, easily recognizable on the scars, the metal hand, and the red hair, had entered the room, looking grim and cruel and mad with hunger. There was another Fëanorian warrior with him, smaller and dark-haired, but with the same hungry look in his eyes.

Both were brandishing bloody swords as they slowly approached Elwing. Watching from the closet, Elrond fought the urge to scream.

“If you come any closer I’ll drop it.” Elwing held the Nauglamír in one hand, dangling it beyond the balcony railing. Her voice was strained, but she met Maedhros’ eyes without fear.

“You’ll be dead before the jewel hits the sea,” sneered the dark-haired kinslayer in a thunderous voice

“Hand me my father’s Silmaril and I’ll call off my troops.” Maedhros seemed to be trying to appear calm and calculating, but there was a hint of desperation in his words. “It’s all we want from you. We’ll leave you in peace. If you would _just_ give it to me”

 _Give it to him, Naneth._ Elrond thought from his hide. _Anything to make them disappear._

But he realized that same moment that his mother would stand her ground. These were the kinslayers that had destroyed her kingdom, murdered her parents, and sent her brothers to their death. In one swift movement, eyes shining with defiance, Elwing, the lost princess of Doriath, slipped on the Nauglamír, climbed the railing, and cast herself into the sea.

Vaguely, Elrond registered the kinslayers screaming in despair as the Silmaril fell with his mother. Vaguely, he registered that Elros was screaming too. Everything felt distant. The only thought on his mind was _Why? Why? Why?_

The broom closet door was now wide open. Elrond and Elros had tumbled across the floor. From the door, they could see the ripples in the water where their mother had hit it. _It’s so far down._ She couldn’t have survived that fall. He clutched Elros’ hand tighter, not wanting to believe it.

The Fëanorians hadn’t noticed them, they were leaning over the edge as if they were considering jumping too. Shaking, as they cursed Elwing and the jewel and fate itself. 

And then the miracle happened. 

Kinslayers and children alike gasped in disbelief. From the flowing sea below the cliffs, a large white bird emerged. Soon it was soaring over the water. The Silmaril in the necklace shone brightly on its breast. 

They saw how it flew west, away from land, wing beat after wing beat, further and further till it disappeared on the horizon. That’s when the dark-haired kinslayer turned around and saw Elrond and Elros in the doorway. His eyes turned wide with surprise at the sight of them. “Brother,” he said, in a tone that was impossible to decipher. “We are not alone up here.” 

Maedhros turned, his sword raised, his eyes blazing. Elrond took a step back. His heart was in his throat. His brother’s hand in his was cold and clammy. Yet he held onto it even tighter, as reality sunk in. 

They’d been left at the mercy of the Sons of Fëanor.

***

As the Fëanorian army advanced through the Havens of Sirion like a flood of blood and fire and scarlet uniforms, Maglor heard the words of their oath echo in his mind.

_“Be he foe or friend, be he foul or clean...”_

He felt as if it might be the only thing that kept him going. The other kinslayings had been atrocious, but this was somehow so much worse.

_“...Brood of Morgoth or bright Vala, Elda or Maia or Aftercomer, Man yet unborn upon Middle-earth...”_

He defended himself with one sword and attacked with the other, easily defeating the young Sindar elves who’d stood watch. They were unprepared and almost untrained. _What am I doing?_ Maglor thought as he continued up the hill. _I should be protecting these people, not slaughtering them_. Then new foes came at him and he raised his swords once more.

_“...Neither law, nor love, nor league of swords, Dread nor danger, not Doom itself...”_

Amrod and Amras were close behind him, their arrows flew with deadly precision, honed from centuries of orc-hunting in the forests of Beleriand. Maedhros was further ahead, leading the charge towards Lady Elwing and Lord Eärendil's house at the edge of the cliffs. 

The elves they were battling now were clearly Ñoldor. Turgon’s people, exiles of Gondolin. Everything from their fighting technique to their ink-black hair was achingly familiar. The oath cared not.

_“...Shall defend him from Fëanáro, and Fëanáro’s kin...”_

Hating every moment, he dodged one more arrow, advanced one more meter, took one more life.

_“Whoso hideth or hoardeth, or in hand taketh, Finding keepeth or afar casteth, A Silmaril. This swear we all…”_

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted an enemy archer approaching, nocking an arrow. “Amberussa, watch out!” He yelled to the twins. It was too late. He turned his head and saw Amrod fall, an arrow in his heart, crimson spreading on his chest. 

Beside him Amras shrieked and threw himself into battle with newfound fury, sending a rain of arrows down on Sirion’s warriors, taking down the archer and several others, then raising the sword he otherwise rarely used. Maglor was right behind him. They cut and thrust without stopping, leaving a trail of corpses behind them.

By the end of the street, Maglor could see the square in front of Eärendil’s house. They were nearly there when Maglor heard his youngest brother scream in pain. The swordsman Amras dueled had gotten the better of him. Amras fell to the ground, bleeding from his shoulder and stomach.

After killing the two enemies still standing, Maglor knelt at his little brother’s side. “Amras talk to me, please…” _No no no. This can’t be happening. Why didn’t I protect them? Why didn’t they stay in Valinor?_

Amras’ skin was turning pale as his blood dyed the pavement red. “Amrod,” He whispered faintly “Amrod”. Then, in the moment before he took his very last breath: “The Silmaril, Maglor, the Silmaril.”

And later Maglor would grieve that his little brother’s last thought had been about their father’s accursed jewels, but now he hurried through the street, swords raised, tears staining his face. _Find Maedhros,_ he thought. _Tell him what happened to the twins. Protect him._

_I can’t be alone in this._

Suddenly a red-cloaked warrior was blocking his way. He recognized him as Heriion, one of his captains. “Lord Maglor,” Heriion began. The two of them had fought side by side countless times. They’d defended Maglor’s lands in the Gap together for more than 400 years. Now Heriion looked at him with wariness and clutched his sword. “This is madness, _hîr nín._ These people aren’t our enemies. I cannot be part of this.”

 _You’re right_ , Maglor thought. “Step aside, Heriion,” He said.

Heriion didn’t move. He pleaded, using Quenya now. “Prince Kanafinwe, have mercy. What we’re doing here is wrong.” 

Across the square, Maglor caught a glimpse of Maedhros’ red hair. _My brothers died for this,_ He thought. _I cannot let them down._

He made quick work with Heriion and hurried to Maedhros’ side, once again hearing the oath in his mind:

_“Death we will deal him ere Day’s ending, Woe unto world’s end!”_

_***_

Clarity didn’t fully return to Maglor’s mind until way later. It was after they’d pursued Elwing to the top of the tower and watched in shock as she leaped from there. Even more shocked, had they been when she rose from the ocean in the shape of a swan. A strange divine power. Ulmo must have been looking out for her. 

When the Silmaril was just a faint light on the distant sky, the oath seemed to fade into the background of his mind. That was both a blessing and a curse.

_What have we done? The twins are dead. What have we done?_

He couldn’t bear to look as the Silmaril disappeared. 

_We’ve done the most horrible thing imaginable. And it was all for nothing._

He turned his head in defeat, then gaped in surprise when he realized that there were two children standing on the balcony with them. Two little dark-haired boys, still dressed in their night-clothes, petrified from shock and all-encompassing fear. In some cruel twist of fate, they were twins. Twins like Amrod and Amras. Twins like…. 

Taken aback, he alerted Maedhros - now his only living brother - to their presence. For a fraction of a second, Maedhros seemed stunned too. Then he took to surveying the children, his eyes narrow. “You are the sons of Elwing and Eärendil, aren’t you? He asked them. The boys nodded, hesitantly.

Maglor felt dread rising in his stomach. “Maedhros, surely you do not mean for us to…” He spoke in Quenya, a language he assumed Elwing’s sons wouldn’t understand. Killing defenseless terrified children minutes after said children had watched their mother cast herself from a cliff. An evil deed if there ever was one. Had they really fallen that far?

Maedhros looked from Maglor to the children and then back to Maglor. He lowered his sword and proceeded to speak in Sindarin, clearly not caring what the children overheard. “We’re not killing them, they’re valuable hostages. If Elwing returns with the jewel, we can make an exchange. Till then they’re coming with us.”

The children cowered at Maedhros’ words, but Maglor felt nothing but relief. _They’ll live. We won’t have to kill them. They’ll live._ He sheathed his swords and sat down on his heels in front of them. “I’m Maglor son of Fëanor.” He said, trying to sound gentle. “This is my brother Maedhros. What are your names?”

“Elros” 

“Elrond” 

Their answers were barely hearable. They didn’t meet his gaze. Of course, they didn’t, after what they’d seen him do. He wouldn’t if he’d been in their place. 

At the top of the stairs, Maedhros was waiting impatiently. “Come with me,” Maglor said to the children, rising to his feet. “I’ll take you somewhere safe.”

That much was true, he figured. Until their mother came for them, if she would come for them, Elrond and Elros were under the protection of the House of Fëanor. As kinslayers and children descended into the devastated Havens, Maglor promised himself that he wouldn’t let any harm come to them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I'm glad I finally got the courage to post this. Comments and kudos would make me so happy <3


	3. III - The Wilds of Beleriand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again <3 Here's a new chapter featuring horses, dangers, and road-trip bonding (of a sort)  
> I promise that Elrond and Elros are going to be alright

The kinslayers led them through the smoldering ruins of what had once been their home. In the square, Elrond saw that some of the Fëanorian troops were assembling the corpses for a pyre. He thought he saw the lifeless body of Dolthriel among them and promptly looked away, feeling as if he was going to be sick.

The dark-haired kinslayer - Maglor Fëanorion - called one of the warriors over. At the sight of Elrond and Elros, she sent Maglor a questioning look. He gave her brief instructions in that other language, Quenya, whereupon she nodded and left to go inside Elrond’s family’s house. 

With a gloved hand on each of their shoulders, Maglor took them out of the Havens to the nearby Fëanorian camp. More soldiers in red were there, working on packing up tents and horses. Elrond figured the kinslayers wanted to leave in a hurry before the High King arrived with reinforcements.

After a moment, the _elleth_ from before arrived carrying a heap of clothes. She handed it to Maglor, who handed some of it to Elrond and Elros. “Go change your clothes in there.” He said, gesturing to the largest of the tents. The clothes were their own, Elrond realized. While he was happy to get out of his nightclothes and to put on socks and shoes, especially, he didn’t like the thought of the kinslayers searching through their room. 

They exited the tent hand in hand and saw that the rest of the Fëanorians’ followers had come. Maedhros was with them, surveying their progress and giving out commands. Elrond recalled the things the storytellers had said of the eldest Fëanorian. A beast, a cripple, ferocious, half-mad. The sight of him made Elrond’s mouth go dry with fear. _He won't hurt you, he needs you._ He repeated to himself, trying to believe in it just a little.

Maglor came and greeted them. “Let me take your nightclothes. Don’t worry, you’ll get them back” 

Then his face turned solemn, his voice softer. “I know you’re scared. I won’t ask you not to be. But know that no one here will harm you. You’re safe with us, that I guarantee.” 

He continued talking, telling them that one of them would have to ride with him and the other with Maedhros. Elrond felt a small surge of relief when Elros squeezed his hand reassuringly and let him ride with Maglor. 

When the last tent was taken down, Maglor led him to a black horse, larger than any Elrond had seen before. “His name is Cúron.” Maglor said, stroking the horse’s muzzle. “He’s very gentle.” Elrond cautiously reached out touched the horse’s flank. Then Maglor lifted him onto the horse’s back, climbed up behind him, and took the reins. Elrond had never ridden before and he clutched the horse’s mane in fear of falling off. On Maedhros’ horse, Elros was doing the very same thing.

The Fëanorian host took off, riders in scores moving as one. In an attempt to catch one last glimpse of his home, Elrond leaned to the side and looked back over his shoulder. He looked away quickly, at the sight of the rising smoke. He stared stiffly ahead and felt the cold metal of Maglor’s armor press against him as they rode off along the mouth of the river.

They journeyed at a quick pace, pausing only briefly by the water, where the Fëanorian soldiers cleaned the blood and dirt off their armor and out of their hair. For the entirety of that time, someone was keeping a close eye on Elrond and Elros. 

After hours and hours of riding, the Fëanorians stopped to make camp for the night. As soon as Elrond’s feet hit the ground he was back holding Elros’ hand. Saddle sore and too exhausted to stand, they sat down in the dewy grass. Maglor soon came to see to them. In the darkness, his eyes shone with a bright glow. Silver, like the light of the moon. Had he not been so terrified of him, Elrond might have found it beautiful. Before returning to his troops, Maglor handed them each a cloak. They were made of green fabric, not red, worn and way too long for them, but warm and soft.

Most of the soldiers seemed to be planning to sleep in the open, but Maglor and Maedhros had a tent raised. They let Elrond and Elros rest in there, then gave them food to eat. It was military rations, served with waybread, and tea. Elrond and Elros had a silent conversation and determined that it probably wasn’t tampered with. The meal was bland, uninteresting, but they had had nothing to eat for the entire day and were awfully hungry. When Maglor, who had barely touched his own food, asked them if they wanted to share his part of the bread, they both nodded. Who knew when they were going to be offered food again? 

Staying in the same tent as Maedhros turned out to be less horrible than Elrond had feared. He acted stern and commanding toward the soldiers, but he didn't converse with his brother and he barely acknowledged the twins’ presence. The few times he’d look at them, Maedhros looked almost unnerved, as if he was the one who was frightened of them, which of course, made no sense at all. But most of the time he just ate in silence, his gaze somewhere far away.

Maglor was different, talkative, asking them questions in his strange lilting dialect. They answered them warily, but Elrond didn’t understand. What did it matter to him whether they liked honey in their tea or what their favorite animals were? On top of that, the kinslayer was unusually good at telling them apart despite their identical clothes. 

Maglor did look a lot less scary without his armor and the red bloodstains that had covered it. With his long braided black hair and high cheekbones, he looked no different from the Ñoldor Elrond had known in Sirion. As he talked to them, he gesticulated a lot, he constantly fidgeted with something, a nervous habit of a sort, and when he smiled he’d scrunch his nose in a funny way. Elrond told himself over and over again to not be fooled. _He threatened to kill Naneth. He must have killed so many people in Sirion. He’d kill you too if he wasn’t planning to trade you for that jewel._

***

After tossing and turning for a while, Elrond fell asleep next to his brother on a pile of furs and blankets in the Fëanorians’ tent. The next morning, when everyone was occupied getting the horses ready, the two of them finally had a chance to talk out of earshot. “I don’t think Maedhros slept at all,” Elros whispered. “That’ll make it a lot harder to escape.”

“You mean run away? We can't! Who knows what they’ll do to us if they catch us?”

“We just have to make sure they don’t find us,” Elros said under his breath, putting a hand on Elrond’s shoulder. “We’ll go back to Sirion, we’ll find some survivors or the High King’s forces.”

Elrond nodded. It did sound like their best chance.

Soon they were moving again. Elrond once again rode with Maglor on Cúron. Elros was in the very front, riding with Maedhros who cut a powerful figure on a large silver horse. His armor gleamed in the sunlight and the wind in his red hair made it look like he bore a crown of flames. 

He’d been High King once, for a short period of time, Elrond suddenly remembered. The loremasters who'd taught him and Elros had made them memorize the list of High Kings of the Ñoldor, and Maedhros' name had been the third one. Elrond couldn’t quite recall the events that had led to Maedhros abdicating, but he knew that those who followed the House of Fëanor still considered him the rightful High King of the Ñoldor.

The Fëanorian host rode all day beneath the burning sun. They crossed the river Sirion north of the delta and continued North West. When twilight fell, they’d reached a forest where they made camp in a clearing surrounded by large willow trees. 

That night, Elrond and Elros looked on as the Sons of Fëanor lit a funeral pyre for the two of their brothers who had fallen in the attack on Sirion. The ones who’d been twins. 

“You two can just stay in here.” Maglor had told them, but they ended up watching from the tent door. Maedhros said a few words in Quenya to their assembled followers and to Elrond’s surprise, someone brought out a harp for Maglor.

When Maglor began to sing and play, Elrond couldn’t help but gape in wonder. Maglor’s music was ethereal, wonderful, like nothing he’d ever heard before. As his melody rose and fell, Elrond saw images in his mind of two little redheaded boys, playing in a blessed realm, and of the large lively family that adored them. The tones turned deeper, wilder, as the two boys grew into fiery young elves who would hunt and track and explore the wilderness, but always come home to their brothers at the end of the day. 

The final part of the song was simple and sorrowful, a lament. When it was done the music seemed to hang in the air. Elrond didn’t know how to feel. It seemed terribly unfair that someone who was evil at heart should be able to sing that beautifully.

In whispering voices, he and Elros had gone over their plan multiple times. They’d pretend to be asleep, crawl under the tent canvas, take some of the rations from Maglor's saddlebag, sneak past the guards and get away from the kinslayers as fast as possible. They had to try. When they returned to the tent, Maedhros and Maglor were both very quiet, their faces drawn in grief. For a moment Elrond almost felt sorry for them. _But their brothers wouldn’t have died if they hadn’t attacked us._ He thought. _Why did they even come? All this for some shiny gem..._

Eventually, both Fëanorian brothers fell asleep. Elrond and Elros took one last wary look at their captors. Elrond thought once again that he didn’t understand them at all. With their hearts racing, they snuck out of the tent and escaped into the night.

***

It felt as if they had been walking in the darkness for hours. Thick, black clouds had hidden the stars away. Elrond couldn't even see his hand in front of him. 

All around them the forest seemed to have come alive, crickets were chirping, bugs were swarming, some small animal was rustling in the undergrowth. Elrond shuddered. _What if there were wolves in these woods?_

As they struggled through the thicket he was trying hard not to think about Eluréd and Elurín, his mother’s lost brothers. Like him and Elros, they’d been twins. They’d been six years old. They’d been alone in the wilds of Beleriand and no one had ever found them. 

A sudden nearby sound made them both startle in fright. “It was nothing,” Elros’ voice was trembling slightly and he clasped Elrond's hand. “Just a bird flapping its wings.” 

They began moving again, and Elrond still couldn’t keep his thoughts from running wild. _Something dangerous could be right in front of our faces,_ he thought. _This darkness is so impenetrable that we wouldn’t even realize it before it was too late._

 _Anywhere is better than with the kinslayers,_ he tried to tell himself, but he couldn’t stop himself from thinking that running away had been a terrible idea. 

Suddenly he felt his brother’s hand slipping out of his. Elros had fallen to the ground and was groaning in pain. He must have tripped over something.

“Ow, I think I twisted my ankle!” Elros sounded like he was on the verge of tears.

Elrond was close to panic as he helped his brother get to his feet and hugged him tightly. “Can you walk? Elros, you can walk, right?” What would he even do if Elros was badly hurt? 

“I’m alright, it’s fine.” Elros insisted, gritting his teeth, but as they continued through the forest he moved notably slower. 

They hadn’t walked far when they heard a noise. Something was clearly approaching. Something big. They heard heavy footsteps on the woodland floor and sort of low growling roars. 

Elrond had frozen in terror. “Is that a bear?” He whispered. 

That’s when they heard the thing speaking. Words in a harsh guttural language that they didn’t understand. Elros was the first to comprehend what that meant. “No. Orcs! Run! Run!”

***

Maglor felt sick with worry. Maedhros had just woken him up, gesturing to the tent floor beside them and its distinct lack of sleeping half-elven children. In the blink of an eye, he’d gotten up, grabbed his weapons and one of his father’s lamps, and run into the forest the way they'd come.

He’d expected the children might try to run. But out here, in the back of beyond? They were days of journeying from any kind of settlement. What was worse, the scouts they’d sent out earlier had seen tracks after orcs not far from here. He had avoided mentioning it to the children because he didn’t want them to be more terrified than they already were. Now Elrond and Elros were alone out there, unknowing that monsters worse than Fëanor’s sons roamed these woods.

Close behind him was Maedhros, also holding a Fëanorian lamp in a chain. Aided by the light from the crystals they quickly searched through the underwood, looking for any sign that the boys had passed through. 

Maedhros looked pale and tensed up. Even more tensed up than usual, that was. Maglor could all too well guess what he was thinking back too. “We’ll find them. It won’t be like...They can’t have gone far,” He reassured his brother. 

The search went on.

“Here, look” Maedhros was bending over a twig near the ground. A few green threads were stuck there, a sure sign that a child in a much too long cape had been passing through. They headed south, and hurried through the woods, then stopped abruptly. Maglor had registered two things at the exact same time. The distant sound of a child screaming and the blades of their swords suddenly glowing bright blue.

They stormed in direction of the sound and soon reached the horrific scene. The Peredhel twins had climbed a tree and were clutching to the branches. At the ground, a pack of _yrch_ surrounded them. Maedhros and Maglor were upon the orcs at once. 

Maglor fought them ruthlessly. Moving swiftly through the darkness he beheaded one orc and slit the throat of another. He felt lighter and less burdened without the usual weight of his armor. Or perhaps it was because he knew these foes were Morgoth’s fell creatures, not innocent elves or Edain _._ He took down two more using precise bone-breaking blows. He then looked up and saw the few remaining orcs fleeing and Maedhros setting off after them.

He waited by the foot of the tree and after a moment he heard a frail voice coming from above him. “Are they gone?”

“Yes, you can come down.” It had been good thinking on the children’s part, to climb a tree. It wouldn’t have sheltered them from the orcs forever, but it had bought them time and probably saved their lives.

The two boys emerged, slowly climbing down. They looked rough, exhausted, and dirty, with scratches on their faces and twigs in their hair. One of them, Maglor thought it might be Elrond, had lost his cape in the fray and was trembling in the cold of the night. Of course, half-elves probably felt the cold more than the Eldar. “Are you injured?” Maglor asked them.

The cloak-less one, Elrond, mumbled “Elros hurt his foot,” and looked at the ground. Maglor didn’t miss the betrayed look Elros sent his twin, clearly not wanting to appear vulnerable in front of Maglor.

“It’s alright, Elros,” He said. “Will you allow me to look at it?”

Elros nodded warily. “Here, hold this.” Maglor handed Elrond the Fëanorian lamp and went to look at Elros’ foot. He was no healer, but throughout the war, he’d had to deal with his fair share of accidents and minor battlefield injuries. Elros was clearly in pain, his ankle was swollen and slightly bruised. Thankfully it didn’t look like it was broken.

“I think it’s sprained. Do you know what that means?” Elros shook his head. “It’s not bad. You’re gonna be fine, but it’ll heal faster if you avoid walking on it.” 

Maedhros appeared between the trees, having dealt with the fleeing orcs. He was covered in blood again, but thankfully black instead of red this time. Beside Maglor, Elros’ eyes were filling with tears. “Does it hurt very much?” Maglor asked.

“It was my idea to run away,” Elros whispered. “Elrond was just following along. Please don’t hurt him.”

Maglor felt a sharp pang of guilt for being the reason the boy was this terrified. “Elros, I’m not going to hurt Elrond or you. Maedhros isn’t either. See, he’s just lending your brother his cloak.” 

The black fur-lined cloak belonging to Maedhros, who towered over most elves, looked comically large on the little boy. The sight made Elros smile just a little.

“But please refrain from running again. Tonight could have ended very badly.” Maglor doubted Elrond and Elros would make another attempt at escaping any time soon, but he needed to make himself clear. They couldn’t very well go chasing after the children like this every night. Elros nodded then yawned. Maglor carefully picked him up so that he wouldn’t have to walk.

He walked towards Maedhros just in time to hear Elrond gasp. “What happened to you?” Elrond asked Maedhros, his eyes wide. Maglor winced. Maedhros was not wearing his prosthesis, Elrond was gaping at the stump where his hand had been cut off. Now was definitely not the right time for the children to hear that particular tale.

Maedhros seemed to be of the same opinion. He simply told Elrond “Don’t worry about it,” in a tone that was dry but not hostile. He added. “We should head back to camp,” and Maglor could not agree more.

With the blue light illuminating the path, the four of them slowly made their way through the forest. “Thank you for helping me find them,” Maglor quietly said to his brother as they approached the camp.

Maedhros looked at him with a raised eyebrow that was surely meant to convey: “We can’t exchange them for the Silmaril if they’re dead.” 

Maglor looked from his brother to the child walking beside him wrapped in his cloak. He then sent Maedhros a look he hoped would translate as: “You’re not that coldhearted, brother, and we both know it.”

When they reached the clearing and were back in the safety of the camp, Maglor looked up and noticed that the clouds had parted, revealing the starry sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that E & E running off and Maedhros and Maglor having to search for them is a total cliché, but I like the trope too much to not use it. I hope you enjoyed the chapter <3


	4. IV - The Fortress on Amon Ereb

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again <3 Here's a new chapter, featuring a gloomy fortress, Elrond and Elros being adorable and a little bit about our favorite estranged nephew.

“Look, that’s where we’re headed, Amon Ereb.” Elrond and Maglor were at the front of the host, riding in walk across the windswept plains. Maglor was pointing to a place on the horizon, where a large fortress was built on the top of a broad hill. 

_Obviously that’s where we’re going. It’s not as if there are any other giant looming fortresses in front of us._ Elrond thought. The Fëanorians could drag him and Elros across the continent to this miserable fortress of theirs, but they couldn’t make them be happy about it. He pouted, said nothing, and patted the horse’s shoulder. He’d gotten used to the horseriding and he’d come to rather like Maglor’s horse. It wasn’t Cúron’s fault he had a kinslayer for a rider. 

Beleriand had turned out to be so much bigger, harsher, and wilder than Elrond had ever imagined. They’d ridden day in and day out, through forests, heath, and scrublands, in the shadow of the high Andram Hills. 

Though the landscapes were beautiful, the journey had overall been awfully boring. In Elrond’s opinion, the most exciting thing that had happened was an incident a week earlier, when some of the soldiers had tethered the horses carelessly. They’d spent a chaotic morning finding and rounding up the stray mounts. Elrond and Elros had heard Maedhros swear under his breath in at least five different languages and been glad that they weren’t the ones he was mad at.

They had made no further escape attempts since the time they ran into the orcs in the forest. Elrond had tried all he could to forget about that night and how scared he’d been, but when he tried to fall asleep, thoughts of the fanged monsters who had chased them through the woods would mix with pictures of his burning home, the dead bodies of his people and his mother casting herself into the sea. Particularly that last one.

 _Why?_ Had Elrond asked himself as it was happening and he still didn’t understand. Why had she jumped? Why hadn’t she bargained? Did she really hate the Sons of Fëanor more than she loved him and Elros? 

No, she loved him and his brother, she’d told them that. She simply didn’t know they were there. She must have thought they were dead. She had thought the kinslayers would kill them.

But the Sons of Fëanor hadn’t killed them, they’d just brought them with them east, and later, in the forest, they’d gone on to save their lives. That was another moment he was trying his best not to think about. The moment when he, from the branch he’d been clinging onto, had seen Maglor and Maedhros charging through the woods, bathed in blue light, and felt nothing but relief. He didn’t want to owe the Sons of Fëanor anything, but if it hadn’t been for them, he and Elros would have died that night.

Elrond had found that it was hard to be terrified of two different things at the same time. Maedhros and Maglor were his enemies, cruel and deadly dangerous, but they’d made it clear they wanted to keep him and Elros alive and unharmed, and that they would shield them from any danger. These last weeks of traveling the Fëanorians had mostly seemed weary, impatient to get back to their fortress, and strangely protective of him and Elros. They had carefully let Elros’ ankle heal and though the food wasn’t in abundance Elrond and Elros were always given plenty to eat. In Elrond’s eyes that made them just slightly less scary than the Enemy’s orcs.

***

A few hours later, they were riding up the hill towards the fortress’ entrance. The large gate was flanked by crimson banners that each bore the eight-pointed star. The emblem of the House of Fëanor, Elrond had learned. 

From behind the battlements a voice greeted the returned lords. The gate opened wide and the Fëanorian host rode into a large outer courtyard. As the gate closed behind them, Elrond looked around at the tall ivy-covered stone walls. He’d never been in a fortress before and he didn’t like it one bit. 

The riders dismounted, Elros and Elrond were helped down, and some stable hands emerged from one of the buildings to deal with the horses. Maglor told them to follow him and led them through another gate into a smaller cobbled courtyard, then down a staircase to the baths. Behind a partition screen, Elrond and washed off the worst of the traveling grime, changed into new clothes, and combed their hair.

“Come with me, I’ll show you where you’ll be staying,” Maglor said to them once they had finished. He’d bathed too, braided his hair neatly, and changed into a blue tunic. 

They followed him up several flights of stairs into a dimly lit hallway. Elrond surveyed it and found once again that this place was nothing like the airy buildings they had lived in at the Havens. Here there were few windows and the thick grey walls were covered in faded tapestries, which showed battle scenes and historical events. 

After turning a corner, Maglor opened a wooden door. “This will be your room,” he told them. “Mine is around the next corner, second door to the right, and Maedhros’ is at the end of that hallway.” 

Elrond peered into the room and found that it was large and completely ordinary. It had two beds, a closet and some empty shelves, a dining table with four chairs, and a large window, framed with claret-colored drapes, which brought in sunlight and offered a view of the plains. The part of Elrond that had been fearing a dark underground cell breathed a sigh of relief.

Maglor gestured for them to enter the room and sit down on one of the beds. “It’s been a long journey, you should rest. Later you’ll be free to explore the fortress should you wish to. I’ll have to attend our council, and then see to a few things, but I’ll be back once that’s finished.” 

Elrond and Elros both nodded. Maglor made to leave the room.

“Um, Lord Maglor?” Elrond hesitantly began.

“There’s no need for titles,” Maglor assured him, waiting for him to continue.

“Can we move the beds together? We… We used to do that at home.”

“I don’t see why not.” Maglor had a faint smile on his lips. “Do you need my assistance?”

“No,” Elrond and Elros said in unison.

“I’ll be seeing you soon.” Maglor left the room, leaving the door closed but unlocked.

It took Elrond and Elros a good while to move the beds. They were made of cast iron and terribly heavy. It would have been a lot easier if they’d accepted Maglor’s offer of help, not that either of them would ever admit it. 

They didn’t have much to unpack. Their few personal possessions consisted of their clothes from home, a few pretty pine cones they’d picked up during the journey and carried in their pockets, and the glowing blue crystal in the chain that Maglor had handed Elrond in the forest. Elrond figured it didn’t quite count as a possession, but Maglor had never asked for him to give it back and he’d gotten used to having it. After some consideration, he put it on his bedside table. 

Then, of course, there was the old silver ring that Elros carried in a chain around his neck, an heirloom passed down to him from their mother. It was shaped like two serpents with emeralds for eyes. Weeks ago, when Maedhros and Maglor had first noticed the ring, they’d both frozen and looked at it with clear recognition and sadness. Elrond had feared they’d take it from his brother, but they hadn’t. As soon as they had looked away, Elros had stuffed the ring back underneath his tunic for safety’s sake.

They collapsed on the beds and rested for a few hours until they heard a knock on the door. Maglor had returned, bringing with him Maedhros, who’d also changed out of his traveling clothes. They had a box with them, it was made of wood and painted intricately with tiny silver stars and flowers. Elrond wondered what could be in it. Hopefully, it wasn’t anything bad.

All four of them sat down at the table, and Maglor briefly recounted the council they’d had. Elrond understood that the Fëanorians suspected that his mother had flown to the Isle of Balar. They’d written to High King Gil-galad who resided there, informing him that they held the sons of Elwing captive and were willing to exchange them for the Silmaril.

“I hope you’ll be reunited with your mother soon,” Maglor said. 

_He sounds so sincere_. Elrond thought, _but it might be some sort of pretense._ Maglor always acted polite, almost kind when he was around them, and Elrond still couldn’t figure out why. 

“Until your mother makes the trade you’ll stay here in Amon Ereb. We’ll find a tutor for you, you’ll have daily lessons. The rest of your time you can spend however you like, as long as you stay within the fortress.”

Maedhros took over. “You shall lack nothing. And you have nothing to fear from anyone here. That said, you aren’t allowed to cause any trouble, or be in the way. This stronghold was built for war, not for children. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes.” Elrond and Elros nodded. It didn’t sound _that_ bad. They could live with this until their mother came for them. 

“Good,” Maglor said. “You are welcome to come and eat with our household in the Great Hall, should you eventually wish to. Till then your meals will be brought to you here.”

The mention of food caught Elrond’s attention, he’d been aching for a meal that had been cooked in a proper kitchen instead of out in the wilds. “When is dinner?” He asked, though it felt more than a little strange to ask the kinslayers such mundane questions.

“In half an hour, or so,” Maglor answered. “Meanwhile you can take a look at this if you want” He lifted the lid of the box. Elrond opened his eyes wide when he saw that it was full of toys. “It’s yours while you’re here, something to pass the time.” 

A sad look in Maglor’s eyes and a reluctant one in Maedhros’ left Elrond wondering who these toys had belonged to.

“Thank you,” He and Elros both said, more out reflex than any actual gratitude. 

When Maedhros and Maglor had left, Elrond and Elros remained at the table, looking at the box of toys as if it could start to sprout fire at any moment. One thing was accepting food from the Fëanorians, but playing with their old toys? That didn’t feel right. 

After a while curiosity got the better of them. _Naneth wouldn’t want us to die of boredom, would she?_ Elrond thought as they began unpacking the contents of the box.

The toys were the finest Ñoldorin craft, each piece a tiny work of art. There were model houses and palaces, little elves and horses and carriages, wrought in wood and metal and painted in bright colors. There were board games, marbles, beads and string, charcoal pencils and thin sheets of white paper. 

There were no toy soldiers or wooden swords. That struck Elrond as odd until he came to the realization that these toys had been made before the war, that the Fëanorians must have taken them with them when they crossed the sea. Then he was completely perplexed. In Beleriand, Valinorean crafts were considered to have priceless value. Why in all of Arda would Maglor and Maedhros let them, their prisoners, borrow these? 

Elros prodded him, grabbed a toy from the table, and got to his feet. “I’ll take this castle, you take that one!”

“Hey! Who said you got to pick first?”

Elros grinned. “I did!” 

“That doesn’t count!”

They spread the toys all over the floor and played with them until dinner arrived.

***

To Maglor, Amon Ereb was a cold display of the past. It had been built by Caranthir more than a century ago, and every room, every stone, every blade of grass, reminded Maglor of his brothers. They had all withdrawn to this fortress after the Nirnaeth Arnoediad. They’d been defeated and miserable, constantly at each other’s throats, but at least they’d been together. Seven Fëanorian brothers. Now only two of them remained.

No place brought back more memories than the hall on the fourth floor, the one Maglor headed to after they’d dismissed the council. The place had come to double as a private armory and a depository. It was full to the brim with the devices and inventions that their father or Curufin had worked on: rune-engraved weapons, astronomical and geographical equipment, smithwork of every art. 

It also contained some of Maedhros’ and Caranthir’s many notes and records on trade and politics, tons of hunting gear that had belonged to Celegorm or to the twins, and most of the instruments Maglor had made or bought over the years. The walls were covered in maps they’d made and in bookcases containing the volumes they didn’t want in the open library. 

Maglor made for the furthest corner, where Celebrimbor's old stuff was hidden away in a wardrobe. No one had touched it in decades. He opened the doors and smiled sadly at the sight: The shelves were full of old clothes and toys and the earliest of Tyelpe’s creative projects. After a moment of hesitation, he took a wooden box, elegantly painted by Curufin’s wife, and started selecting playthings to fill it with.

“Are you planning on helping me, Maedhros, or are you just going to stand there?”

Maedhros, who’d been watching silently from the door, crossed the room and joined him in front of the wardrobe, looking utterly unimpressed. Maglor could practically hear what he was thinking: _Really, Maglor? Giving our nephew’s old toys to the hostages in some attempt to feel better about yourself?_

He’d be right. Maedhros usually was.

At the council, they had decided to send two of their heralds off to Balar with a letter detailing their terms for the exchange: The release of Elrond and Elros for the return of their father’s Silmaril. The letter also emphasized that if the heralds were harmed, Elwings’s sons would pay the price. Maglor knew that was mostly for the purpose of intimidation. Maedhros, who had known Ereinion Gil-galad well once, was sure he wouldn’t lay hand on their messengers. 

It was no less awful. Those parents were going to wring his neck and he absolutely deserved it.

Trying to think about something else, he opened a new drawer and looked through the contents. “Do children even play marbles these days?” He asked Maedhros, weighing the small bag of marbles in his hand.

Maedhros shrugged. “How would I know?” Then, after a moment, he reached into the closet and handed Maglor one of the board games. “Here, take this one”

“ _Limë as canta?_ I hated that game.” 

“That’s just ‘cause you were terrible at it,” Maedhros said, a hint of a smile in his voice. 

“I was not!” Maglor objected with mock-offense, before stuffing the game in the box with the rest of the toys. They’d been an entire family of terrible losers.

“Didn’t Tyelpe beat you at it before he’d learned to walk?” Maedhros teased him, before going very quiet.

Celebrimbor's name was never said out loud in Amon Ereb. His absence was a hole in the household that was never addressed. “I have no son.” Curufin had snapped whenever anyone had dared to speak of him. Proud to the last, he hadn’t even mentioned Tyelpe as he laid dying in Doriath. 

Tyelpe had indeed beaten most of the family in every strategy game starting at a young age. He’d always been such a clever child, Maglor thought, wise and with a good heart. That was the whole reason he’d forsaken them, why he wanted nothing to do with them.

 _I know, Maitimo. I miss him too._ He wanted to say. _I hope he is well_.

Instead, he sighed and said “This has got to be enough toys. We should go talk to them.”

Going downstairs to tell the terrified children that their future depended on a jewel and their missing mother. That they were little more than means to an end. Maglor found that he almost couldn't bear it.

***

Elrond and Elros were solemn and quiet when Maglor and Maedhros came to see them. Quieter than children should ever be, Maglor thought, though he could hardly blame them. Their eyes, which he couldn't help but notice was so much like Turgon’s and Idril’s, were filled with thinly veiled fear as they listened to him.

He wished there was something, anything at all, he could say or do to soothe them, but he knew that they didn’t trust him anywhere near enough for that. They wanted no comfort from those that had slain their kin and set their home ablaze.

Maybe it was just a trick of the light, but Maglor thought their faces brightened a bit at the sight of Tyelpe’s old toys. To them, Amon Ereb had to seem strange and gloomy. As Maedhros had rightly pointed out, the place hadn’t exactly been built with children in mind. Hopefully having something to play with could provide them a little solace in this unwelcoming place.

When they left the children’s room they went straight to their shared study. There was no lack of work to be done. The Enemy’s forces never slept for long, the fortress’ scouts had seen packs of orcs near their eastern borders. Tomorrow, Maedhros and a section of their warriors would be riding out to deal with them.

Maglor had wished that his brother could get at least a few days of rest, but Maedhros, who the orcs feared more than any other, was badly needed out there. Their position as the last Elven stronghold in Beleriand was a vulnerable one. Even more so now that they had sacked the Havens. As much as he hated to admit it, Maglor wasn’t sure how long they would be able to hold the fortress.

Their following was greatly diminished, many had fallen in the attack on Sirion. Some, like Heriion had deserted in the heat of battle and died aiding Elwing. Maglor knew Sirion’s casualties had been much greater than theirs. _I did that._ He thought. _I brought death upon all those innocent people._ And more horrifying yet: _If a Silmaril comes within reach once more I’ll shed blood for it again._

They sharpened Maedhros’ weapons, discussed the dwindling food stores, planned the appointment of new captains, and pecked at their dinner. “It’s late,” Maglor said after a good while of dead silence. “I should go and make sure the children get to bed. I’ll be there to send you off tomorrow morning.”

Maedhros nodded and bid him goodnight. He looked exhausted, strained, so very different from the handsome statesman he’d once been. He appeared kept together by the oath alone, but every once in awhile Maglor would catch a glimpse of the big brother he loved so dearly. The brother he would follow to the ends of the world. If only he could hold on to him.

He walked to the children’s room and knocked. One of them, Maglor was pretty sure it was Elros, opened the door. Elrond was peering out from behind him. “It’s time for bed. Change your clothes, I’ll find you some more blankets.”

Maglor carefully tucked them in, side by side on the joined beds. He lingered for a moment. There was something he wanted to say, but he didn’t know what exactly. 

Finally, he said “The door, if I close it, it’ll be pitch-dark. Do you want me to leave it open?” 

“If you leave it open will anyone come in here?” Elrond, the one on the right, asked, looking up at him with large eyes.

“No, no one will, I promise.”

“Then open it a little bit”

Maglor rose to his feet. “I will. Goodnight you two.” 

He left the door ajar behind him and walked through the familiar hallways. At the end of the day, he thought, Amon Ereb, though dismal and ridden with memories, was a safe place to stay. For him, his brother, and the remains of their people. And for the children who mattered more to him with every passing day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you liked it. Have a great day <3


	5. V - The Heavyhearted Brothers

When Elrond woke up it took him a brief moment to remember where exactly he was. Rubbing his eyes and looking around the room, he was met by cold grey stone walls and elegant Ñoldorin furniture. A bright blue crystal was lying on the small table beside the bed. A shiver ran down Elrond’s spine when at once it all came rushing back. _The Sons of Fëanor. Amon Ereb._

Not knowing what else to do, he burrowed himself beneath the warm blankets, laid his head back on his pillow, and closed his eyes. Elros was still sleeping peacefully beside him, his breathing soft and rhythmic.

Eventually, Elrond realized there was no way he was going to be able to fall asleep again. Careful not to wake his brother, he rose and tiptoed to the windowsill where he pushed one of the curtains aside and sat down to look out on the surroundings. 

It was, of course, the same lowlands they’d ridden through yesterday, rolling terrains of green grass, now partly hidden by white mist. In the distance, he could catch a glimpse of a herd of deer passing by. He smiled slightly, thinking that from this faraway vantage point, they looked no bigger than the toy figurines on the floor.

For a while, he felt almost at ease. He wished that he and Elros could just go on ignoring the rest of the fortress, that they could just stay in here until their mother came to save them. Then the three of them would finally be together again. _Naneth_ would agree to the Fëanorians’ terms and make the exchange. He and Elros would be free to leave and the Sons of Fëanor would get their precious Silmaril. 

Their father’s Silmaril, they called it. Maedhros and Maglor claimed it was their family’s by right, that the Sindar had stolen it. Elrond didn’t know if he believed them. His family weren’t thieves, they were good people. And what did it matter anyway? Heirloom or not, it was nothing but a pretty rock. In no way worth all this pain and blood and destruction, regardless of how much the Fëanorians wanted it back.

 _May they choke on it._ Elrond thought sourly. But as he thought about it for a while, he found he didn’t quite mean it. He did blame Maglor and Maedhros for all the harm they’d done, to his people and to his family. He knew he should hate them and he did. But at the end of the day, he didn’t actually want any harm to come to them. They had, after all, saved his and Elros’ lives. If only Maedhros and Maglor would let him and Elros go, take the jewel, and then stay in their fortress forever and never hurt anyone again.

There was a knock on the door and one of the Fëanorians’ attendants entered, carrying two trays of breakfast. He sat them down on the table. “Good morning. Lord Maglor told me to inform you that he'll come by in half an hour.” Seeing the worry on Elrond’s face, he added: “It’s nothing to be afraid of. I believe he just wants to show you and your brother around.”

“Oh,” Elrond said, fidgeting with the sleeve on his nightshirt. “Thanks for the food.”

When the servant had left, Elrond eyed the food on the table. There were porridge, rye bread, and apple slices, and two cups of tea with honey. It smelled sweet. He figured it was about time to wake Elros up, he shouldn’t miss out on breakfast.

Once he had gotten Elros out of bed, they ate together, chatting about the food, and about yesterday’s play. Elrond traded his bread for half of Elros’ apple and thought that he’d definitely gotten the better end of that deal. They changed out of their nightclothes and had begun an intense game of marbles when Maglor knocked on the door. At the sight of them sprawled across the floor, he raised an eyebrow and gave one of his half smiles 

“Good Morning you two. Did you sleep alright?”

“We slept fine,” Elros muttered. Elrond nodded along with him.

“And what about the food? Did it suffice?”

“It did,” said Elrond, his voice stilted.

“Good. Then why don’t you put on your shoes and come with me?” Maglor didn’t phrase it as an order, but Elrond doubted they'd be allowed to refuse. 

Maglor guided them out the room, through the corridor, and downstairs, stopping a few times on the way to explain where the different doors led. Elrond, overwhelmed with the sheer size of the place, only caught about half of it. They met a few elves on their way, most of them dressed in the red Fëanorian livery. They all greeted Maglor politely and looked at Elrond and Elros with ill-concealed curiosity.

“One of my soldier’s daughters has agreed to tutor you while you’re here,” Maglor explained as they walked side by side. “I’m thinking we’ll stop by the library so you can meet her.”

They walked through another hallway and then through a two-leaved door into the library hall. Elrond looked around, surprised that it was so much nicer decorated than the rest of the fortress. The windows were stained glass, there were red and white mosaic tiles on the floor, columns of white marble from floor to ceiling and rows and rows of tall bookcases full of scrolls and leather-bound volumes. Elrond figured whoever built it must have been a most avid reader.

A few of the Fëanorians’ followers were there, immersed in reading or browsing the shelves. Among them was the _elleth_ who was going to be teaching them. She was among the youngest elves in the household, born here in Beleriand, and she introduced herself as Haeril daughter of Haenith. Elrond noted, to his relief, that she hadn’t been part of the host that attacked Sirion. 

The four of them headed for a backroom, which Maglor explained they were to use as an improvised schoolroom. They all sat down and Haeril asked Elrond and Elros questions about how their schooling had been at home, about arithmetic, reading, and writing. She seemed impressed when Elros mentioned that they knew both the cirth runes and the tengwar. She asked if they would demonstrate and when they agreed Maglor slid two quills and two sheets of paper across the table.

Elrond carefully wrote each _certh_ and then proceeded to the tengwar. Maglor watched curiously, and Elrond suddenly became very aware that this was the Fëanorian script, that Maglor’s father had been the one to design each of those letters. He took extra care to remember the shapes and to not smudge the ink. It probably wouldn’t be great to get any of them wrong.

“That’s not bad,” Maglor said, looking down on Elrond's work. “Do you like reading books?”

“A little,” Elrond replied, keeping his gaze fixed on the paper in front of him.

He and Elros had loved learning to read, they had thrown themselves into it with life and soul, pestering the loremasters for more books and their mother for more trips to the library. Now, if he just took his time, Elrond could read almost anything.

“Haeril and I are going to draw up a plan for your lessons. You can go look at the library books if you want. There’s probably not many intended for children, but there’s some about wildlife that you might find fun.”

Elrond looked up. “Can we take some back to our room?” The words came out more excited than he’d intended.

“As many as you can carry.” Maglor said “Just be careful with them and bring them back here when you’re done.” 

Elrond almost failed to hide his smile. If he and Elros had books to read, time would pass so much faster. They might even learn something and discover some new stories too.

”Do you think you can find your way back to your room yourself when you’re done looking?” Maglor asked. “Otherwise, I can have someone escort you.”

Elrond shook his head. “No, it’s fine. We can find our way back.” He would definitely prefer them walking through the fortress on their own to them being hoovered over by some Fëanorian soldiers.

“We can,” Elros agreed and together they left the schoolroom.

***

“Can’t we just go get some fresh air? Take a look around? Say hi to the horses?” Elros asked.

Elrond and Elros were lying on their bed, staring up at the ceiling. Each day they’d had a few hours of lessons before returning to their room. There they’d act out tales with their model city, draw or read books, play board games and marbles and the occasional round of the floor is lava. Now, after a week, they were starting to get bored.

Elrond shook his head. “Have you forgotten whose house this is? We should just stay in here.”

“We walk to the library and back every day,” Elros argued.

“And we get lost half the times!” Amon Ereb was practically a labyrinth. There were still parts of the fortress they hadn’t been in at all. “And besides,” Elrond said, “We’re only doing that because _he_ says we have to.” 

Maglor would come by every night when it was time for them to go to bed. He was always very busy, though, and could never stay for long. He was still acting the same: graceful, patient, and strangely insistent on treating them as if they were honored guests and not prisoners. He’d ask them questions about their studies and their day, relentless despite their ever monosyllabic answers. Elrond knew for a fact that they couldn’t trust him at all. 

_One wrong move,_ he thought, _and Maglor might decide to stop pretending to be nice._

Elros was less cautious. “I’m sick of being in here all afternoon every day. It’s just a small trip. Maglor said we could go outside if we wanted to. And he said they wouldn’t hurt us.” He continued, doing his best attempt at puppy dog eyes, “Please come with me, Elrond.”

“No!” 

“Then I’ll just have to go by myself,” Elros said, sounding very satisfied with himself.

Elrond sighed. No way could he let his brother go out into the kinslayers fortress all on his own. “Fine” He rose to his feet. ”I’ll go with you. But if there’s any trouble we’ll hurry back here.”

They went down the stairs and through the fortress till they found a door leading to the castle yard. None of the elves they met on their way seemed to mind them having left their room, but Elrond stayed watchful as they walked on through the courtyard and in through the stable doors. Inside, the stables smelled like hay and leather. They were quiet, save for a lone stablehand, who was busy grooming one of the horses.

Elrond and Elros strolled up and down the stable aisles, peeping into the stalls to get a look at the animals. It was beautiful horses, large and refined, bred for rapidly traveling the plains. 

“You’re a good horse, aren’t you?” Elrond said, smiling as Cúron nuzzled his shoulder. “I’m sorry I don’t have anything to give you, but you can’t just eat my shirt.” 

Elros laughed and petted Cúron’s head. “Please don’t eat my brother, horse. I’ve only got one of them.” 

They left the stables when dinner time was approaching, feeling more cheerful than they had in weeks.

“Where are we gonna go tomorrow?” Elros asked, beaming at Elrond as they climbed the stairs. He had always loved nothing more than discovering new places. “Cause I’ve got some ideas.” Elrond was sure his brother was going to talk about nothing else while they ate. And he was surely going to get dragged along tomorrow, no matter what Elros settled on doing.

 _No matter what, things aren’t all bad_ . He thought. _Not when I have my brother._

***

Dusk had fallen when Maglor left the fortress’ training grounds, his arms aching from the drills. He walked through the quiet buildings, greeting the patrolling guards and stopping by his chambers to get rid of his weapons before heading down the hall to the children’s room.

He could hear them through the door, talking in loud voices. It felt like a shame to interrupt them, but it had gotten late and it was time for them to sleep. He knocked and entered the room, and the three of them went through what had almost become routine. Elrond and Elros were both sitting in the bed under the covers when a horn sounded from outside the fortress, startling them.

“What was that?” Elrond asked, shifting a little beneath the blankets.“Is someone coming?”

“It’s just Maedhros and his troops coming back from the border,” Maglor explained. His brother had ridden east six days ago to help rid the eastern frontier of orcs. He’d been expecting their return over the course of the day. 

“Oh,” Elrond said. Both children's faces seemed to fall in disappointment. Elros put his head on Elrond’s shoulder and closed his eyes. 

Maglor found himself trying to reassure them.“She’ll be here, your mother, she’ll come for you. But it takes a long time to journey here from Balar and it hasn’t been more than a week.” He continued, softening his voice. “It’s felt like a long time, hasn’t it?” 

Warily, the children nodded. “We miss her,” Elros said, so quietly that Maglor wasn’t sure if he’d imagined it or misheard.

For some reason, it made his thoughts turn to his own mother. To her smile as the light of Laurëlin shone through the atelier’s windows, how she’d pinch his cheek with one clay stained hand and braid Maitimo’s hair with the other, the joy in her voice when she told them that yet another little brother was on the way, all the advice she’d give them, even when she knew they would disregard it. How sheltered and safe and happy they’d been then, growing up in the Days of Bliss. 

Then he tried to think about Elwing, the boys’ mother, as something other than the one who held the Silmaril. How young she’d seemed when she faced them in Sirion, barely more than a child herself in his eyes. The children sitting in front of him resembled her so strongly.

“I understand. I’m sure she misses you too.” He said without doubt. “Try to sleep. I have to go see my brother.”

***

When Maglor reached the courtyard, the returned soldiers were busy stabling their horse and helping the wounded up the stairs to the healing hall. At the sight of him, Maedhros crossed the yard, meeting him halfway. He was, thankfully, unscathed, but looked pale and worn-out after days of hard horse riding and battle.

As they walked towards his room, Maedhros recounted the last days’ events at the front. The enemy’s forces seemed to grow bolder and more numerous with every day, making the terrain increasingly dangerous. It wouldn’t be long before one of them would have to ride out again.

Maedhros kept his chamber mostly empty, his few personal items neatly organized, the windows wide open, despite the cold of the night. A stark contrast to Maglor’s room, always overflowing with books, sheet music, and items he could never make himself get rid of. But long gone were the times when Maglor would teasingly jab at his brother about the comfortless decor. He followed Maedhors through the door, leaned against the bare wall, and began briefing his brother on what had happened in Amon Ereb while he’d been away. 

Maedhros lit a candle and asked Maglor the routine questions while slowly shedding each piece of his armor, undoing his braids, and taking off his prosthesis. They quickly ran out of news to share. The areas surrounding the fortress had been quiet and their soldiers busy returning to their crafts and patrols.

“And the children?” Maedhros asked after a long moment of loaded silence. He kept his eyes firmly fixed on the daggers he was removing from underneath his clothes.

Maglor considered his words. “It’s as you’d expect,” he said, solemnly. “They're frightened half to death, they miss their mother.” He looked down on his feet. “I pity them.” Though he wanted to, he couldn’t seem to find the words to express how _wrong_ it felt, to see Elrond and Elros suffering and know he’d caused it, was causing it as they spoke.

He wished Maedhros would meet his eyes, or tell him what they should do, tell him anything at all. That they could rely on each other as they once had. 

He continued “They’re six years old, Maitimo. They're not used to being alone. We’re gonna have to...” 

They had to do _something,_ though Maglor didn’t know exactly what. He’d wanted to give the children some sort of normalcy. Schooling, toys, a space of their own. Maybe it had helped, to make time pass if nothing else. But it could be weeks, or even months before the Elwing came for her sons. The boys needed someone to care for them and the idea of delegating the task to someone else felt like cowardice.

Maedhros interrupted his thoughts, his voice hollow, resigned. “They won’t forgive you, you know. No matter what you do. We killed everyone they’ve ever known.” 

_Not everyone,_ Maglor opened his mouth to say, before realizing just how disturbing an argument that was. He then opted for staying quiet, gazing out the open window, wondering when he’d taken a turn this wrong.

The answer, of course, presented itself as pictures of bodies in the water by a once peaceful port town, a once mighty forest kingdom, brought to ruin, survivors by a river mouth cruelly slain. 

_No one will forgive us._ He thought, not for the first time and undoubtedly not for the last. _We shall be dispossessed forever. The damned of elvenkind._

“You’re right,” Maglor said at last. “They won’t. They shouldn’t. But my point still stands. We brought them here, they’re our responsibility. We have to try and do right by them.”

“Fine,” Maedhros snapped. “Do whatever you want. Just keep me out of it. For their sake if nothing else. It’s not like I would be any good at...”

”Good at what, Maitimo? I mean, if anyone…” Maglor shook his head. “Did you forget the part where you practically raised all six of us?”

“‘Cause I sure did a good job at that, didn’t I?” Maedhros said, voice dripping with irony, a sad smile on his face.

“We made our own choices.” Maglor caught Maedhros’ gaze and held it. “Our hands were forced by no one. Not you, not even father.”

 _You blame yourself for far too much already. For the Nirnaeth, for Fingon, for Dior’s poor sons. None of that was your fault alone,_ Maglor wanted to say. But he knew that bringing those things up would only ever pain his brother more. Standing there, in his dismal chamber, Maedhros looked ready to collapse from exhaustion. Maglor thought that it might have been more sensible to wait until tomorrow to have this conversation with him. It wasn’t as if their struggles had any chance of disappearing over the night. 

“You should probably get some sleep,” He told Maedhros, though he knew Maedhros rarely slept well these days. An age ago, In Aman’s summertime, the two of them, kept awake by the heat, would sit side by side on the floor of their shared room, sharing secrets and dreams in quiet voices so as to not disturb the little ones next door. Now worse things than warm weather kept them sleepless and the children down the hall were victims of theirs, not treasured little brothers.

“I’ll try,” Maedhros said, tired-eyed and unconvincing, blowing the candle out.

Maglor crossed the room before pausing in the doorway. “It’s good to have you back.” 

“Goodnight, Káno” it sounded from the darkness. Maglor knew he couldn’t ask for more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and thanks for all the comments on this fic so far <3 <3


	6. VI - The Cracks in the Surface

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter turned out quite long and it fought me every step of the way, so I'm so happy to finally be uploading it. It features a palantír-related incident, a whole lot of rain, and Maglor's ongoing guilt crisis. I hope you enjoy it <3

Exploring Amon Ereb quickly became a favorite pastime of theirs. Once they were let off from their lessons, Elrond and Elros would wander the hallways and courtyards side by side, mapping out the fortress and its grounds in their minds. 

They went to see the animals in the henhouse and the kennels, playing with the hounds and chasing the chickens around the hen run. They walked down narrow corridors to the kitchen and the servants’ wing, looking for the best hiding places and reading spots. They quickly decided to stay far away from the dungeons, which were cold and dark and smelled foully of orcs. The wine cellar didn’t keep their interest for long either. Much more exciting was going up on the battlements and climbing the many stairs to the top of the towers where they would stand and gaze out over the plains of East Beleriand as the strong wind made the red flags flutter and made a mess of their hair. 

Leaving their room meant that they inevitably would run into Maedhros or Maglor once in a while. Usually, the Sons of Fëanor would be surrounded by craftspeople or soldiers, deep in conversation. Not sure how they were supposed to act, Elrond and Elros would mumble a greeting in their direction and leave as fast as they could.

The best of their discoveries was the fortress’ kitchen garden, which they stumbled upon on an early afternoon, fifteen days into their stay in the fortress. It was empty except for the two of them, secluded and strikingly peaceful. Vegetables and the medicinal herbs grew side by side in neat rows, the sun was peeking out behind the clouds and honeybees were swarming over the beds of lemon balm and lavender. Elrond and Elros walked through the patches on the narrow paths, naming as many plants as they could. They climbed the apple and plum trees, careful not to damage the branches. They searched the ground for bugs and picked blackberries that left bright stains on their hands.

That night, when he, as always, tucked them into bed, Maglor seemed surprised to hear where they’d been. As if he’d almost forgotten that his fortress had a garden at all. 

“My sister in law was very fond of botany. She’d drag us all out to that garden whenever the weather was good.” Maglor told them. “She’d be happy that someone’s spending time out there.”

Elrond and Elros blinked at him, unsure what had prompted the sudden descent into family anecdotes. As a rule, Maglor would ask plenty of questions about them, but always keep his distance by never volunteering anything about himself or his House.

“My younger brother fortified Amon Ereb. He and his wife ruled these lands as well as Thargelion. They drove trade with the Casari and the Laiquendi,” Maglor explained.

“So you weren’t here then?” Elros asked after a moment of awkward silence. Elrond found himself wondering too. It was hard to imagine the eldest Fëanorians anywhere but in their hilltop stronghold, cloaked in shadows, fierce and severe as they kept watch of the north.

“No,” Maglor shook his head. “This is all Caranthir’s work. I had lands of my own then, Maedhros too,” He paused. “It was a different time.”

Elrond knew some of what Maglor was talking about. The long peace, when the Noldor had kept Morgoth at bay and green grass had grown all the way to the gates of Angband. Elven bards would lament the king and the princes who’d fallen when the great siege had been broken by dragonfire and rivers of molten flame. He’d never liked those songs much. Though they were beautifully written, they saddened him to his very core. Ruin and loss at hands of the Enemy was the last thing he wanted to think about, especially not just before he went to sleep.

“Who are the Casari? and the Laiquendi?” He asked Maglor instead, the foreign words strange on his tongue.

“Dwarves and green-elves,” Maglor translated. “I forget you don’t speak Quenya”

After a short while he added, “Would you like to learn?” There was a hint to his words that left Elrond wary. Was this some trick or test or trap?

“It’s an offer, not a punishment,” Maglor added after noticing the caution on his face. He rose to his feet. “Think about it.” He said. “After all, you’re Noldorin princes too, albeit some generations removed. Someday knowing the tongue of the west might prove useful to you.”

***

The days went by and slowly turned into weeks. The weather grew colder, the leaves of the trees in the garden turned yellow, then red. The heralds Maglor and Maehros had sent to the Isle of Balar had yet to return and there had been no sign of the twins’ mother. Some days, Elrond missed her so much his stomach ached. He’d sit and stare at the wall or wake up in the middle of the night, trembling after yet another dream of fire and blood, feeling utterly alone in the world.

Other days, when Elros and he would skip through the hallways or invent new games to play or when he was in Haeril’s lessons and found the solution to a math problem he’d been struggling with, he’d almost forget it all. He'd smile and laugh with his brother and just be.

When he caught himself doing that, he’d feel almost guilty. He’d remind himself of how they’d come to stay here, what they’d witnessed, and just whose roof they were living under. He didn’t want to get used to Amon Ereb or to the kinslayers who ruled there. 

It was hard not to, really. Maglor would linger longer in their room now, ask more questions, tell more stories, recommend them books to read. Despite clearly trying to, he never seemed quite at ease, always moving, almost fretful. _If we make him so uncomfortable, why is he even here?_ Elrond asked himself, wondering what Maglor was trying to achieve. _It’s not like taking care of us is going to get him any closer to my mother’s Silmaril._

As more days passed, Elrond resigned himself to not finding an answer. None of Maglor's attempts at kindness made any sense.

On a cold windy day, Maglor brought them new winter clothes: cloaks and mittens and warm coats.“Winters are harsher out here than what you’re used to.” He told them. “Try it on and see if it fits.” 

“If you want, you can take it with you, when you travel back westward.” Maglor offered when they were done going through the piles. 

“We’d like that,” Elrond said, thinking back to a cold night in an orc infested wood and how close they’d been to losing their lives. There was no guarantee the journey home would be any easier, even if _Naneth_ was with them. They shouldn’t refuse perfectly good clothes, even if the clasp on his new cloak was shaped like an eight-pointed star. 

“If there’s anything else I can do for you, just let me know,” Maglor said before leaving them to their dinner. Neither of them asked anything of him. There was no point. What they wished for was their mother, their old home, their life back. Maglor couldn’t give them any of that, even if he’d wanted to.

Though Elrond was firmly determined not to let it show, there was one thing about Maglor that had him almost captivated. Something part of him wanted to ask Maglor about. Every so often, in the evening, when they headed back to their room, he and Elros would hear faint flowing music coming from behind one of the bedroom doors. _Maglor’s music,_ Elrond had realized one night, stopping dead in his tracks and recalling how Maglor had sung at his brothers’ funeral. He felt hit by the strangest urge to walk to the door and press his ear against it, before tearing himself away and hurrying down the hall.

“I think he’s composing it, “ Elrond told his brother a few days later, after noticing how the distant melody seemed to evolve just a bit from one day to the next. “You know, writing the music himself,”

Elros eyed the door, expression uneasy. “He might be. Does it matter?”

Elrond supposed it didn’t. No pretty songs, or presents, or offers of help could ever change the fact that Maglor was a kinslayer, a murderer, a kidnapper, not their friend. He knew that. But at night, when they were lying in their bed and Maglor straightened out their blankets, Elrond would sneak a look at his hands. Long slender hands that were forever stained with the blood of Elrond’s kin. He’d wonder which of the calluses were from the hilts of swords and which were from harp strings. 

***

The twenty-eighth day of Elrond’s stay in Amon Ereb was a dreary one. Cold and heavy rain poured down monotonously for the third day in a row, keeping the entire household cooped up inside the building. Elves, of course, weren’t bothered much by the cold, but no one liked getting soaked to the skin. To everyone’s frustration, the torrent didn’t appear to be stopping anytime soon. Elrond and Elros were left feeling confined, bored, and restless, missing their usual trips outside.

Desperate for something to do, they went up the stairs to the fourth floor. This part of the fortress was usually deserted, nothing was up there but locked doors and old artworks. Here they could run and play wildly with no risk of bothering anyone. That too got boring after a while. Playing tag wasn’t much fun when you were only two people playing.

They were walking through the southern hallway when they heard the sound of a door opening around the corner. Then, the sound of footsteps on the floor headed their way. More for the fun of it than from actual fear, they quickly hid behind an exhibited suit of armor. Elrond peeped out to catch a glimpse of who turned the corner, then tilted his head in confusion. What was _he_ doing up here all alone? Maglor walked past them, headed for the staircase, seemingly not noticing them there. He looked lost in thought, distracted, and his usually so neatly braided hair was unbound, cascading down his back. 

They remained in their hiding place till Maglor was long gone, then they snuck around the corner. Trying the various doors they found one of them to be unlocked. If Maglor had meant to lock it, he must have forgotten to do so. Elrond and Elros locked eyes. “Just a quick look,” Elros mouthed. Elrond nodded enthusiastically. _Finally, something exciting was happening._

They found the hall behind the door to be a mess of boxes and shelves and cabinets, most of it covered in a layer of dust. They walked through the room, gaping at all the peculiar objects that were stored there. Old books and scary-looking weapons, crystals in vivid colors, something that looked like measuring equipment, a lute, a flute, a cauldron, and countless things they couldn’t identify. 

“It’s like a museum,” Elros whispered, fascinated beyond measure. None of them had ever been to any museums, but they’d loved the stories of the ones in Gondolin, of art galleries and collections of rocks and minerals. 

“What’s that over there?” Elrond asked, tugging on his brother’s sleeve. Near the corner of the room, something was resting on a pillar of black marble, covered by a piece of thin fabric. 

As Elrond carefully lifted the fabric and let it fall to the floor, Elros sent him a warning look. ”Elrond, It’s _theirs_ , maybe you should just let it...” At the sight of the hidden object, he trailed off. It was a large globe made of what appeared to be black glass. They stared at it, puzzled, almost entranced, never having seen nor heard of anything like it. The stone was beautiful, a perfect sphere. Black as night without a single flaw.

Elrond stretched his hand out towards it, full of expectations. Would its surface feel smooth and cold like glass? Or warm, like a dark stone on a sunny day? He lifted his hand to reach for it.

“Don’t touch it!” A loud voice tore through the air.

Elrond jumped in fright and drew back his hand at once. Maglor had appeared in the doorway. His eyes blazed silver as he crossed the room in stride. A look of shock was painted on his face. 

“Are you out of your minds?” Maglor’s words were white-hot with power and went right through Elrond and Elros. He approached them, gazing down, his posture tense as were he a predator crouching for a spring.

Elrond felt his knees go weak, his heart racing. Before Maglor could say anything more, Elros had yanked at his arm, pulling him harshly towards the door. Stricken with terror, they ran out of the room and down the stairs.

In their room, they buried themselves beneath the bedspread and the quilts. No place in Amon Ereb felt entirely safe, but this was as close as they were going to get. They huddled close together, listening to the battering of the rain on the windows and waiting for the inevitable sound of footfall in the hall.

“Elrond. Elros.” Maglor’s voice was coming from the doorway. Elrond could sense him approaching and sitting down at the foot of their bed, almost feel his strange grey gaze resting on them. Elrond clutched the sheets. _Go away_ , He thought. _Leave. Just leave. We don’t want to talk to you._

“I’m sorry I scared you,” Maglor said. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

Beneath the blankets, Elrond could feel his brother’s breath on his face, warm and panicked. Outside, Maglor continued talking. “You’re not in trouble. You’re not in danger. I’m not going to harm you, I would never.”

As the rain kept pouring down outside, Maglor stayed in their room, telling them they were safe, his voice soft like the eye of a storm. Was he lying to them? Was he pretending? 

Maybe he wasn’t. Elrond couldn’t tell.

***

 _Should I be leaving?_ Maglor asked himself, casting another glance at where the children were holed up. _Maybe Maedhros was right. Maybe I’ll never do anything but hurt them._ It didn’t feel right to leave them when they were clearly so upset, but nothing he’d said had been able to reassure them. They clearly didn’t trust a word coming out of his mouth.

Maglor figured they must have gone into the depository while he was downstairs, getting another pile of the twins’ stuff from his room. That, of course, being the _other_ twins, Amberussa. Amras had had the habit of leaving his belongings lying about all over the fortress. Amrod had lent Maglor books over the summer. For weeks Maglor had been postponing putting their things away. It felt too much like a final acknowledgment that they weren’t coming back, that he’d never again hear them in the entrance hall, spirits high as they bragged about the game they’d shot out of the sky and dragged mud all over the floors.

 _Would they have gotten along?_ He couldn’t help but wonder. _Would my little brothers have taken a liking to Elrond and Elros? Would Elrond and Elros have liked Amberussa, or would they have been as scared of them as they are of Maedhros and me?_

It was, of course, a completely pointless scenario to mull over. Missing his brothers wouldn’t bring them back. It wouldn’t do anything for the children, either.

Maglor sighed, shifted in his seat, and decided to try a different approach. “That stone you were looking at upstairs…” He began. “We call it a palantír in Quenya. A Gwahaedir in Sindarin. My father invented them in Eldamar and my kin brought them across the sea. They are tools of great power, used for communication and for gazing across the world.”

A small quavering voice came from underneath the blankets. “We didn’t know that.” 

“We’re sorry. We weren’t trying to steal it, I promise.” The other twin added.

 _Steal it?_ For a brief moment, Maglor was uncomprehending, then he winced, realizing that he’d given off a completely wrong impression. 

“That’s not what I thought you were doing.” He assured them, his voice a little raw, lacking his usual composure. “I mean, how would you even… I’m not accusing you of anything.”

The children were quiet as mice. Maglor wasn’t sure if they were listening or not. He took a deep breath and continued. “Most of the palantíri have fallen into the hands of The Enemy. My brother and I know how to keep him out, but if you haven’t been trained in their usage, you risk drawing unwanted attention or getting yourself injured.” He paused. “I was worried something might happen to you.”

After a moment, the twins, Elros to the right and Elrond to the left, peered out, their faces red from warmth and turmoil. “We thought you were angry at us,” Elros said. The twins sat up against the headboard, looking at him with uncertainty.

Maglor looked back, apologetic and, though he couldn’t quite own up to it, more than a little fond. “I’m not.” He told them. “You’re hardly the first children to sneak in where you aren’t allowed. Probably not the last either.”

The children seemed to lower their shoulders in relief. “I suppose you were merely curious?” Maglor asked.

“Yes,” Elros nodded. “It’s just… There’s nothing to do when we can’t go outside. We got bored”

“Tell me about it,” Maglor said. The icy autumn rain didn't make Amon Ereb any more welcoming. He missed his training, the pale warmth of the sun, the fresh breeze on the battlements. “Though I suppose we should count ourselves lucky for not having to go out in it,” he added. “Did you see the poor patrol coming back earlier?” 

The Fëanorian troops were no strangers to bad weather, ever-cold Himring had gotten its name for a reason, but few things would make you feel or look more miserable than scouting for orcs in a rainstorm.

Elrond nodded. “They looked as if they’d swum the whole way,” 

“Exactly,” Maglor smiled. “Listen,” He began. “Once it clears up out there, would you like to go out for a walk on the plain? Get some fresh air?”

Suspicion returned to the children’s eyes. “We can’t leave the fortress,” Elros said, tilting his head. “We aren’t allowed to.”

“We’ll make an exception. And I’ll ensure your safety, of course.” Maglor promised, already pondering how he was going to convince Maedhros that this outing was a necessity. It was, in a way, wasn’t it? Even in wild untamed Beleriand, children shouldn’t have to be immured behind castle walls. Maglor’s kin in Valinor, used to peacetime and to freely roaming the lands, would be outraged at just the thought. 

For a brief moment, guilt washed over Maglor as he considered how horrified an elf of Aman would be at the idea of stealing children from their home, how horrified it would have made him before the Exile, or just a lone century ago. He did his best to banish the thought. 

“What do you think?” He asked.

“Yes,” Elrond said, after locking eyes with his brother. “We’re not scared. We‘d like to come with you outside.”

“We can go as soon as the weather’s dry.” Maglor stood up. “I’m going to go see if I can cheer my probably still drenched soldiers up with some wine and a warm meal. Join us, if you want. It must be getting tiring to always eat alone.”

Elrond and Elros shared another look. “Alright,” Elros said, getting to his feet and taking his brother with him. “But may we skip the wine?”

Maglor hadn’t counted much on them agreeing. Until now, they’d understandably wanted to stay far away. “We might have some apple juice,” he offered, feeling oddly happy about this turn of events. He quickly fixed his hair and straightened his robes before heading downstairs, letting the children lead the way.

Though it paled completely in comparison to the lost throne room in Barad Eithel or the assembly rooms of Himring, Amon Ereb’s dining hall was finely embellished. Crystal chandeliers and banners in the red and silver colours of Fëanor’s house hung from the ceilings and historical paintings decorated the walls. It must have been one the few places in the fortress Elrond and Elros had had yet to venture into. Walking close beside Maglor, they took in the room and the elves assembled there with wide eyes.

Maglor tried to see the remnants of his people through the children's eyes. They were mostly warriors, sullen and battle-scarred, fighting on because of spite or hatred of Morgoth. Though he knew that none of them would ever dare defy his orders and harm the children, he could hardly blame Elrond and Elros for being afraid. “This way,” He told them, leading them along the wall towards his place at the head table and gesturing for an attendant to bring in two more plates and two more chairs.

The meal itself went better than Maglor had dared hope. He spent most of it trying to discreetly steer his steward and captains’ conversation away from balrog fire and the most efficient way to decapitate an orc, in some attempt to spare the children from the goriest of the details, without them realizing he was doing so. 

It didn’t quite take away his restlessness, nothing really did these days. _If Celegorm and Curufin were here,_ Maglor thought, _we’d be clearing the tables away and staging sparring matches in here._ He felt a sting in his chest. _If the others were here, if we weren’t alone, then maybe Maedhros’ chair wouldn’t be so glaringly empty beside mine._

He took a long sip of wine. Next to him, Elrond and Elrond were talking in low voices. Maglor had to hide his grin behind his cup when he noticed the two of them stealthily swapping food between their plates, offering the other the bits they didn’t like whenever they thought Maglor wasn’t watching. Humoring them, he downed the rest of his wine and turned his head a bit to the left, feigning profound interest in his father’s sigil on the crimson banner above them.

***

Two nights later, Maglor woke in the dead of night, breathing hard and glancing frantically around the room. In his dreams, he’d been back in Menegroth. Screams had echoed through the Thousand Caves and Maglor had been running through the arched halls, searching desperately for the Silmaril, but finding only more of Dior’s people.

He got up, heartbeat still racing, lighting the candle on his desk and surveying his hands in the yellow gleam. _Foolish,_ he thought. _T_ _here aren’t any bloodstains on them, it was a dream._ The thought wasn’t as comforting as he’d hoped. As the fruitless battle had raged on, young King Dior, beautiful as springtime, had bled out on the floor of his throne room, side by side with the corpse of his wife. The nightmares Maglor and his brothers had brought to Doriath wasn’t the kind one could wake up from.

Maglor slipped on a rope and left the room. This was what happened when he didn’t train, or hunt, or compose. The horrors of the past tightening their grip around him, shrouding every thought in black regret. He was headed for the staircase, planning to get some fresh air even if a walk across the courtyard would leave him completely drenched, when he noticed the bright blue light of a Fëanorian lamp halfway down the steps. 

Holding the lamp in his hand was a lone boy, who turned around, startled. “Elrond,” Maglor asked, pulled from his thoughts at once. “What are you doing out here? Is something wrong?”

No answer came. Maglor slowly descended the stairs and sat down beside him.

“Is it because you can’t sleep?”

When Elrond nodded slightly, Maglor almost added _me neither,_ deciding at the last minute that it wouldn’t be appropriate. Instead, he asked “Was it a bad dream?” and then, somewhat uncertainly, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No,” Elrond said, looking down “No thank you.”

“May I just keep you company, then?” Maglor suddenly felt very aware that he’d never been alone with any of the children before. “Is your brother still sleeping?”

“Yes, he’s in there.” Elrond gestured towards the door of his bedroom. A long moment passed. Elrond rolled the crystal between his fingers and looked sicker and sicker at heart. At last, looking straight ahead, he spoke. “He was missing, Elros, in my dream. We were… we were back in Sirion and I couldn’t find him.”

Maglor took a deep breath.“I can understand why that would frighten you.” If there was anything he knew it was the pain of losing kin. Cousin after cousin had fallen, brother after brother. “But it was just a dream, right? It wasn’t real.”

Elrond turned around, briefly looking Maglor in the eyes. “ _Naneth_ made us promise we’d take care of each other.”

 _To take care of each other._ Privately, Maglor thought that that was a lot of responsibility to give two six-year-olds in a war zone. He was distantly aware of his hypocrisy; he had been the very one bringing war and danger to the boys’ home. Fate, with Maglor acting as its instrument, had been nothing but cruel to the twin sons of Elwing and Eärendil. 

“Well, isn’t that exactly what you’re doing, what you’ve already done?” Maglor said, remembering the boys clinging to each other, them finishing each other’s sentences and walking hand in hand. "Remember back when he hurt his ankle, and you let us know so we could help him? He is so lucky to have a brother like you. And you’re lucky to have him.”

Elrond said nothing, but Maglor noticed him straightening his back a little.

Maglor couldn’t help but ask: “Do you have nightmares like that every night?”

“Not _every_ night,” Elrond murmured. 

_Often, then,_ Maglor thought, wishing he had known about this sooner. Concerned, he nearly reached out to stroke Elrond’s shoulder. Changing his mind at the last minute, it became a strangely aborted movement. He let his hand fall to the stair thread and sighed. “You know, the door over there,” He said, gesturing towards the door he’d come out of. “It leads to my room...”

“I know,” Elrond interjected, adding a nervous-sounding: “We hear you playing sometimes.”

“Oh,” Maglor didn’t know quite what to say to that. He improvised. “I guess it takes me away, the music. I’ve been playing for as long as I can remember, since I was younger than you are now, though I’ve been low on inspiration lately. Have you ever tried playing an instrument?”

“I haven't,” Elrond said, without any of his usual aversion. “Maybe I’ll try it someday,”

Maglor smiled and began to speak. “Well, what I meant to say before, was that if you should ever need my help, or need someone to talk to, then you can just knock on my door. Even if it’s the middle of the night. The same goes for your brother, of course”

Elrond was silent for a moment. Then he asked Maglor “Why?”

His voice and the look on his face were now full of what must be all the distrust he could muster. “Why are you helping me?” He repeated. 

_Because the thought of you and your brother being in pain fills me with a kind of dread I’ve never felt before,_ Maglor thought. _Because I don’t want to be the monster children have nightmares about._

The words that left Maglor’s mouth were neither completely right nor completely wrong. “My strife is with those who would keep me from my father’s work,” He said to Elrond, solemnly. “Not with children. Not with you.”

Elrond seemed only somewhat reassured. Mostly he seemed tired. Maglor supposed he might not end up remembering much of this conversation. That, Maglor thought, was probably for the best.

“At least there’s one piece of good news,” He said, wanting to cheer Elrond up.

“What’s that?”

“Try listening.”

Elrond listened for a moment. The utter silence that met him caused him to frown a bit. Maglor waited for the moment he when he would understand .

“The rain stopped!” Elrond exclaimed. Then, after a moment, failing to hide his excitement: “Does that mean we can go outside tomorrow.”

“I said we could, didn’t I?” Maglor said with a twinkle in his eye. “I'd be happy to take you outside. But let’s get you back to bed first.”

Quiet fell as they climbed the stairs together. _A good kind of quiet_ , Maglor thought. _The kind that banishes nightmares._


	7. VII - The Troubled Waters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would die for these children and so would Maglor. Maedhros is still mulling it over - or at least pretending to mull it over.  
> I hope you enjoy the chapter <3

As he and Elros ate breakfast, Elrond recounted all he could remember of the conversation he and Maglor had had during the night, watching how his brother seemed to grow more mystified and disbelieving with every word. They had drawn the curtains, and the light streaming into their room revealed the familiar mess of toys on the floor and the drawings they had hung on the walls. It was such a far cry from last night, when Elrond’s haunted dreams had made the room seem eerie and airless, as if the shadows were growing in size.

An unsettled frown remained on Elros’ face. “Are you sure it wasn’t just something you dreamt?” 

“I’m absolutely sure,” Elrond said. Not in his wildest imagination could he make something like this up. Sitting side by side on the stairs late last night, he and Maglor had talked about music and brotherhood and dreams. Maglor had been listening to what Elrond said as if how he felt mattered, and he’d talked to him with a tenderness Elrond never would have thought he possessed. He’d been waiting for a catch, an ulterior motive, some sign that Maglor didn’t really mean well, but he hadn’t found one. Once he’d felt better, Maglor had simply led him back to bed, where he’d gone on to sleep soundly, his dreams undisturbed.

“He said that we can come to him for help if we need it,” Elrond explained between spoonfuls of warm porridge. “At night too. We can just knock on his door.”

Elros looked up from his food, his expression now even more troubled. “Well, we don't need _his_ help, do we?” Spite and fear intermingled in his voice. When Elrond hesitated to agree, Elros scowled at him and added: “You should have told me you’ve been having nightmares, Elrond. You could have just woken me up, instead of…”

Elrond looked down, not listening to Elros’ words. Suddenly, he found himself wishing he’d kept it all a secret and not confided in his brother. Elros clearly didn’t understand anything at all. “We’re going to be late for school,” Elrond said abruptly, pushing his chair back and getting to his feet. He grabbed his grammar book from the shelf and left the room without meeting Elros’ eyes.

During the day’s lessons, the two of them ended up ignoring each other, working on their spelling exercises and math problems in an almost biting silence. Home in Sirion, they had often argued, squabbled about who should get to be in charge of their games or annoyed their mother by bickering endlessly about the most trivial matters. Elrond thought it felt so much worse to fall out here, where they, surrounded by kinslayers, needed each other more than ever. 

“You’re still coming, right?” Elrond asked as they left the library in the early afternoon. He’d been looking forward to going on a walk outside the walls, but he liked the idea much less if Elros wouldn’t be there with him.

“I’m coming,” Elros said, looking like a soldier about to march into battle. “You’re not going alone.”

Maglor had sent word that he would meet them in the outer courtyard. After putting on boots, coats, and cloaks, they headed down there and found him waiting by the gate, dressed in a grey traveling cloak. Both of his swords, several daggers, as well as a silver horn were in his belt and he had a longbow slung over his shoulder. The sight made Elrond want to shy away. They hadn’t seen Maglor this heavily armed since the days following the attack on Sirion. _It’s just for protection,_ Elrond reminded himself as they walked across the yard. 

As he greeted them, Maglor quickly seemed to become aware that something was slightly off. He sent Elrond a puzzled look, silently asking what had gone wrong. Elrond shook his head, hoping he could get Maglor to just stay out of it. If Elros were upset with him because of Maglor, his interfering would most likely just make it all worse.

“We’re quite unlikely to run into trouble this close to the fortress,” Maglor explained to them. “But I’m going to need you both to promise me that while we’re outside you’ll do exactly as I say. At once, and without question. Do you understand me?”

When they had both assured him that they understood and that they wouldn’t try to run away, Maglor signaled the guards. The portcullis was slowly lifted and the wooden gate swung open. Then they set off, going out into the world for the first time in more than a month. 

They walked down the hill on a narrow trail, breathing in the fresh cool air. The skies were still grey and overcast, the tall grass wet and the ground covered in pools of rainwater. “There’s a small lake south of here. It’s where the soldiers go in the summer,” Maglor explained. “It’s not a long way.”

Elrond and Elros went on ahead, wading through the puddles on the path. “I spy something beginning with an L,” Elrond tried when they were approaching the lake, hoping they could make peace. Beside him, Elros remained silent, not looking at him. Elrond continued. “Maybe we could ask Maglor if he’ll let us play tag?” When Elros still didn’t respond, Elrond lost his patience. “Why are you so mad at me?” He snapped, grabbing the sleeve of his brother's coat.

Elros pulled his arm back. “I’m not mad!” He said through gritted teeth. “I just don’t want you to do something stupid.” He threw a glance at Maglor who was walking behind them and spoke again in a much frailer voice. “You cannot trust them, Elrond. What would I say to _Naneth_ if you got yourself hurt?”

Elrond felt his chest tightening at the mere mention of their mother. He thought back to how she’d held him tight and kissed his cheeks before saying goodbye to them. Then to her standing near the balcony’s edge, Maedhros and Maglor threatening her with bloodstained blades, and the seawater rippling where she’d hit it. He felt tears pressing at the corner of his eyes

“Well, It wouldn’t be your fault,” he began. “And I’m not going to…”

“I think he can hear us.” Elros interrupted him in a whisper, casting another scared and suspicious look in Maglor’s direction.

“Wait here,” Elrond told his brother. Then he hurried back along the path to where Maglor was standing. He didn’t stop until he was so close he had to bend his neck to look up at Maglor’s face, “May Elros and I walk around the lake? Alone?” he asked. When Maglor was about to shake his head, Elrond continued. “Please, Maglor. He’s upset. I need to talk to him.”

 _And he’s never going to tell me anything if he thinks you’re listening in._ Elrond thought. _He’s way way too scared of you. And he’s stubborn like that._

Maglor looked over at Elros, his expression concerned. Then he put a hand on Elrond’s shoulder. “Stay where I can see you. And call for me if you need me.” 

Elrond nodded. “We will.” 

“And Elrond,” Maglor added, just as Elrond was about to turn around and go back to his brother. 

“What?” 

“Don’t be too harsh on him.”

The lake was surrounded by rush and reet mace. A small bathing bridge of wood was built out into the water. The last days’ rain had made the banks overflow and made the ground around the lake soft and slippery. Elrond and Elros walked slowly through the mud. “Listen, “ Elrond began. “About Naneth…” 

“I think about her every day,” Elros said, unprompted, sounding distant.

Without even thinking about it, Elrond reached out and took his hand. “I know,” He said. “I do too.” 

They continued on, walking carefully so as to not lose footage. “He…” Elrond hesitantly began, meaning Maglor, who was still on the other side of the lake, standing on the bridge, looking out on the water and probably keeping a watchful eye on them. “He was just being nice yesterday, I think.” Being nice. As opposed to pretending to be. Elrond continued. “He said he’d never hurt us. I don’t think he will.”

Elros stopped in his track. “How do we know he’s not just lying to us?”

“We don’t. But he hasn’t hurt us so far. And I think he’ll help us if we ask for it. He already is, isn’t he?” Elrond didn’t like how vulnerable he sounded. 

“Yes,” Elros said, quiet and resigned. He gave Elrond’s hand a squeeze. “I’m glad you’re here. I don’t know what I would have done if it was me all alone.”

 _He is so lucky to have a brother like you. And you are lucky to have him._ That was what Maglor had said to Elrond last night. Apparently, there were some things all three of them agreed on. 

Elrond and Elros continued alongside the waterline, and Elrond decided to try to cheer his brother up a bit. “This place is a sorry substitute for the sea.” He said, trying to mimic the gruff tone of the sailors from home and shaking his head in mock-outrage. “ Do you think one could sail on it at all?”

Elros gave a half-smile and rolled his eyes.“That would require a boat. And we don’t have one.” 

“We don’t have one at the moment,” Elrond said, swinging their entwined hands back and forth. “But maybe in the future. Who knows?”

***

The rest of the trip passed off peacefully. Elrond and Elros played a few rounds of tag, chasing each other in circles through the meadows, before joining Maglor on the bridge and heading back to Amon Ereb. “Are you cold?” Maglor asked as they made their way up the hill. Dusk had already fallen, the days were quickly getting shorter as autumn grew late.

“Just a little,” Elrond replied. Their cloaks had become wet and stained with mud and their cheeks and ears red from being out in the chilly air.

They followed Maglor through the gates, back into the confines of the fortress, and up the stairs. He sent one of the guards to inform his brother that they were back and led Elrond and Elros down the hallway towards what Elrond knew was one of the private living rooms. He wondered about that. When he and Elros explored the halls they’d gotten the impression that the Sons of Fëanor rarely if ever made use of this place. The reason turned out to be quite harmless: Inside the room, a fire was crackling in an open fireplace, sending out light and warmth. Maglor took their outerwear and hung it to dry as Elrond and Elros sat down on the floor in front of the fire, warming their hands and watching the flames dance across the hearth.

Across the room, Maglor was absentmindedly humming as he took off his cloak and slowly removed each of his weapons. “You know,” Elros said out of the blue. It took Elrond a moment to realize he was addressing Maglor. “We know that song. The bards from Gondolin used to sing it sometimes.”

Maglor looked up. “They did?” He sounded mildly surprised. Now that Elros had pointed it out, Elrond could recognize the melody too. It was an old Noldorin folk song, one of the more lighthearted ones. It told a tale of long-past adventures in the fair highlands across the sea.

“Elrond says you write them yourself.” There was curiosity, but also skepticism and a thinly veiled challenge in Elros’ voice. Elrond hoped Maglor didn’t take too much notice of it.

Maglor sat down in the armchair closest to the fire. “Some of them.” He said, not sounding offended. “I wrote that one with some cousins of mine, a very long time ago.”

“Won’t you..” Elrond began. Against his better judgment, he was almost quivering with anticipation, hoping they could get Maglor to sing for them, just a little bit. “Like you told me yesterday.”

“I don’t have my harp with me,” Maglor said, shrugging, but after a moment's contemplation, he began to sing anyway. His voice was light, seemingly effortless, but clear as crystal and strong as mithril. It took Elrond a moment to realize that he couldn’t understand any of the words. He was too absorbed in the pictures, which rose from the song like smoke rises from a fire. Images of snow-covered mountains and of a group of young elves who trekked through them, their faces free of worries, their voices raised in song. Golden and silver rays merged all around them, bathing the landscape in light. 

When Maglor stopped singing after the song’s first verse, Elrond had a thousand questions burning on his tongue, beginning with just: _How?_ He didn’t quite feel ready to ask them out loud. Instead, he shared a look with Elros and leaned his shoulder, enjoying the heat and images as they slowly faded away.

“It’s the Pelóri, the mountain range,” Maglor remarked, sounding faraway again. “Tyelkormo, Maitimo, and I had discovered these caves we wanted to show the others.” His tranquil smile, Elrond thought, wasn’t directed at them so much as at the memories he was thinking back on. That Elrond could understand. If he’d seen places like that, he’d never want to stop thinking about it. More composed, as if pulled from his daydream, Maglor spoke again: “You’d have heard the Sindarin translation, I suppose.”

Elros nodded. “Did your version come first?” 

“It did.” After a moment Maglor added: “Did ever you think about whether you wanted to learn?”

 _He means that language, Quenya,_ Elrond realized. Elros sent him a slightly panicked look, leaving the decision up to him. Elrond didn’t know what to say. “No one’s taught us any of it before.” He tried, timidly. “Our mother speaks Taliska sometimes, but that’s a different thing altogether, isn’t it?”

“Yes, that’s a language of mortal men, ” Maglor said. “But surely your father speaks Quenya? I was under the impression that the Gondolindrim used it at court.” 

Elrond stiffened. That felt like a low blow. Suddenly he couldn’t decide if he was angrier with Maglor for mentioning the father they so rarely talked about so casually, or with all the circumstances that had led to _him_ , their family’s enemy, knowing something about Elrond’s father that Elrond didn’t know himself. Vaguely, he’d been aware that his father, as a prince, a lord, and a traveler, spoke many tongues. Of course, Quenya would be one of them. They had just never gotten the chance to talk about it. He and _Adar_ had never had much time to talk at all.

Though he tried, he couldn’t hide his hurt. Maglor looked as if he was aware that he’d made a mistake, but unsure how to proceed. Again, it was Elros who broke the silence. “Our father is a mariner,” He said, wrapping an arm around Elrond. Elrond couldn’t decide if he was grateful or frustrated with him. “That’s someone who sails on the sea. He came home, not this summer, but the one before…”

“It’s very important. I mean, that he’s sailing.” Elrond added, trying to sound collected, the way his mother had always sounded when she talked about _Adar_.

“His mission is a noble one,” Maglor said, his tone strange. “What did you do when he came home then?” 

There he was again, asking about matters that didn’t concern him. Part of Elrond wished they could tell him off, another part of him wanted everyone, even Maglor, to know how good and kind and bright their father was. Maybe Elros felt the same way, because he started narrating, rambling a bit. “We helped him work on the Vingilótë and he made us and _Naneth_ food. Then he had to go to a meeting, but later we went to the beach and he taught us to swim.” 

Elrond had tried to commit each of those events to memory, to remember every detail: the ship’s birchwood timbers, the sound of his father’s laughter, the gold of his hair. But as the months had come and gone, it had all gotten more and more muddled. It had been such a long time. _How much of it happened the way I remember it?_ He couldn’t help but wonder. _And how much have I made up since then?_

“That sounds nice,” Maglor said. Elrond nodded. It had been. They had wanted _Adar_ to stay forever. When he had set sail, they hadn’t understood why. Their mother had assured them that he was trying to save everyone, trying to aid all of Middle Earth, that he _had to_ sail, that it wasn’t their fault he was leaving. As he sat by the fireside, close up against his brother, Elrond supposed that, despite everything he'd done to them, it wasn’t really Maglor’s fault either.

“Maglor, you are kin to our father, are you not?” He asked. He was not sure how the question would be received, but if Maglor was allowed to ask them forward questions, he and Elros should be allowed to do the same.

“Yes. His maternal grandfather was my half cousin on my father’s side.”

Elros knitted his brow. “What does that make me and Elrond to you?”

Maglor made a similar expression. Elrond imagined him mentally going over the branches of a large genealogical tree. “You are our first cousins thrice removed. If I’m not mistaken.”

They all lingered at that for a moment, their eyes fixed on the fire. _It really doesn’t matter_ , Elrond supposed. _It doesn’t change anything at all._ It still got him thinking. In a very different world, a more peaceful and less marred one, he’d have living cousins and uncles and aunts of all kinds. Maglor would have been one of them, along with Maedhros and those redheaded twin brothers of theirs. He wondered if Maglor thought of them as his kinsfolk, if that was why he was so intent on trying to help them. The only way to find out would be asking him directly, an option Elrond quickly ruled out.

Maglor had gotten up from his chair and walked to the window. He was silent as he gazed out at the surroundings, his fingers drumming a gentle rhythm on the windowsill. “What are you looking at?” Elros asked him. “It’s all dark out there.”

“Nothing in particular. There’s naught but darkness between us and Ramdal hills.”

“Maybe you should teach us to speak Quenya,” Elrond said thoughtfully. Both Elros and Maglor turned to look at him. Shifting in his seat, he explained. “If it's going to be cold and dark all the time we’re not going to be able to play outside anyway.” Spending all their evenings entertaining themselves in their room or the library would not be very fun in the long run, Elrond thought. He shrugged. “We might as well...”

Maglor raised an eyebrow. Perhaps he had expected more pleasantries. Elrond didn’t plan on giving him any, Maglor had been the one to suggest this in the first place. After a moment, Maglor rejoined them by them in front of the fireplace. “Should we start tomorrow, then?” 

Elrond threw a look at his brother before answering. Elros nodded. “Alright,” Elrond said. And it was the strangest thing: At that moment, he didn’t feel afraid.

  
  


***

Afternoon Quenya lessons were soon held in the boys’ schoolroom, in the library hall. Not every day, just a few times a week when they all had the time. Though they, as expected, stumbled a bit over the many unfamiliar sounds, Elrond and Elros were quick learners. With a pang in his heart, Maglor was reminded of Celebrimbor, who, bright as he was, had picked up Sindarin in leaps and bounds by the shores of Lake Mithrim an age ago.

“Did you use to be a teacher?” Elros asked him one day, after scrutinizing the words Maglor had written on the blackboard. Maglor wasn’t sure if he should take it as a compliment. If it was, he wasn’t sure he deserved it. Between the two of them, Maedhros had been the one with an interest in languages, the one best suited to follow in their father’s linguist footsteps. And, even though you’d never get him to admit it today, he’d had a way with children once and often been accompanied by a trail of younger cousins. 

“I taught music students once, but they were older than you,” Maglor answered cheerlessly. There had been many throughout the centuries: Young talents at the Tirion Conservatory, the eager idealistic bards among his father’s followers in Formenos, and much later a few Easterling youths from the March of Maedhros, learning elvish music in between their sword and spear practices. All of it had come to very little, Maglor thought darkly. No music had been able to save them from Angband’s might. 

“Back to the matter at hand.” He declared, rolling the piece of chalk between his fingers.

They ended up getting sidetracked quite often during lessons, Quenya nouns and phrases would yield to conversation, or, at least, attempts at it. Elrond and Elros told him bits and pieces about the games they’d been playing, their lessons in math and writings, and the books they had spelled their way through. They were still wary of him, their eyes uneasy. But as far as Maglor could tell, they were decidedly less so. Sometimes they would even talk of their parents, the mother they loved and the father they idolized. He tried to reassure them as well as he could. “I’m sure they miss you too,” He’d say, somewhat awkwardly. “You’ll see them again.”

They’d ask him questions too, maybe just as a way to get a break from the grammar. Elros especially wanted to hear of Eldamar. The cities, the landscapes, and the animals that roamed there. Maglor told them unworldly stories, accompanied by Quenya vocabulary and melancholy smiles. He had never thought he’d come to tell tales of The Undying Lands this way. Usually, the audience would be elves who had once dwelt in Treelight themselves and Maglor would recount the tragedies in epic verse, lamenting the great darkening and all that had led to it. Elrond and Elros were much more interested in the color of the butterflies and that one time Maglor and Celegorm had stumbled upon a tiger out in the grasslands. With an ache in his heart, Maglor felt himself getting used to it. 

***

Almost two months had passed since they’d sent their emissaries west to deliver their demands to the High King. They should easily have been able to travel to Balar and back in that time, but they still hadn’t returned to Amon Ereb. At council meetings, Maglor, Maedhros and their captains could only make somber guesses as to what had befallen them. Gil-galad could have decided to seize and imprison them, or, more likely, they could have been attacked along the way. By orcs, by men in the Enemy’s service, or by something even worse.

As the sun sank on the horizon, the air in the meeting room grew thick with despondency. Maglor was happy to dismiss the council. Maedhros and he were left rolling up the maps and gathering the many sheets of paper, Maglor humming a half-thought out tune, Maedhros quiet. “Come dine with the rest of us, won't you?” Maglor asked him when they were almost finished, hopeful, though he knew it was unlikely to go well.

Maedhros sighed, not deigning him an answer. Maglor tried again. “You’ve stayed gone for weeks, the soldiers are talking.” The last part might or might not be true, Maglor did not actually care much for what was or wasn’t said about them. “It’ll be good for morale.”

“You and your morale,” Maedhros muttered, shuffling the documents on the table.

 _Is it everyone you want to keep at arm’s length?_ Maglor wondered. _Or is it just me?_

He grimaced. “What’s the alternative?” He asked Maedhros “Locking your door and shutting the world out?” He knew he was being insufferable, but he’d take Maedhors’ anger, his scorn rather than this icy passiveness. Continuing felt like twisting a knife, but Maglor did it anyway. “It won’t help you! When has it ever?”

“What is this about?” Maedhros sneered, looking at him with distaste. “I’m not joining up with your little pet project, I told you..”

Maglor took a step towards him. “Do you hear yourself? They’re _people,_ children, and they need our help! The brother I knew…”

There was a flash of hurt in his brother’s grey eyes. For a moment Maglor thought Maedhros might just hit him. He braced himself, but the blow did not land. Instead, they both remained still and silent, watching each other with the focus of two duellists, awaiting the other’s first attack. Maglor was the first to look away. “I can’t very well be two places at once.” He said quietly, hoping Maedhros would understand what he meant. _I want to be there for you. I wish to help you, I just don’t know how to._

“What do you want from those children, Makalaurë?” Maedhros simply asked. Maglor suppressed a shiver. Maedhros’ tone and the long-lost sound of the name their mother had given Maglor somehow managed to make him feel like a schoolboy again. 

He didn’t know what to say. He breathed in, then out. “It’s… It’s a chance to do something that’s..” Not _good_. That was something they would never be again. “Something that’s not horrible.” Maglor tried, desperation sneaking into his voice. “Our last, I think.” The words lingered, thorny and true.

Maedhros looked pained, stricken. He opened his mouth as if to speak and Maglor had no idea what he was going to say. He didn’t want to hear it, couldn’t bear more painful slights or eerie echoes. “If you’ll excuse me.” He mumbled, hurrying out the door.

Restless, he took his bow to the training grounds, letting arrow after arrow hit the target till his heart rate was back to normal. He tried not to think and failed soundly at it. _We’ll never have what we once had._ _We are changed and we are alone. I must come to grips with it._

An hour or so passed before he put the weapon down and reentered the fortress. He could hear the sounds of conversation and cutlery against plates coming from the dining hall. The meal must just have begun.

To his surprise, he found Elrond and Elros waiting beside the door to the hall. “Is something wrong?” Maglor asked. Usually, the children would find their seats, even if he’d yet to arrive.

Elrond looked up at Maglor. “What is your brother doing in there?” 

Maglor blinked at them and looked into the hall. Maedhros was indeed there, sitting in his usual seat at the head table, cutting out his food and making conversation.

“Normally, he’s not here,” Elrond said.

“He likes to keep to himself,” Maglor explained. “But that doesn’t mean you two have to wait out here. You could just have gone in and started eating.”

“He is much scarier than you,” Elros said, nervously. “Sorry,” He added when Maglor took a moment to respond.

“You don’t have to apologize,” Maglor assured him, not quite sure if was supposed to have taken offense on Maedhros’ behalf or his own. 

“He never talks to us,” Elrond whispered. “And he always looks angry.” Their eyes seemed to be filled with questions as well as fear. 

Maglor found himself at a loss, Maedhros’ stories were neither Maglor’s to share nor in any way suited for the ears of children. “It has nothing to do with the two of you.” He finally said. ”He’s been hurt badly, my brother, and now he’s trying very hard to not get hurt again.” Vague, but not untrue. He gave them a moment to take it in. “Shall we?” He asked them, before leading them into the hall.

“Maglor, Elros, Elrond,” Maedhros greeted, as they took their seats. He seemed to have lost a bit of tension and he spoke again once Maglor had put food on the children’s plates and the soldiers had resumed their chatter. “You know, for someone who’s so concerned with whether or not I attend dinner, I feel like there’s some irony to you showing up ten minutes late.” His tone was surprisingly mild.

“It won’t happen again,” Maglor said with a wry smile, meaning: _I’m so glad to see you here,_ and: _I’m sorry._ He filled his own plate and listened to the conversation around them, oddly overwhelmed.

“They seem better,” Maedhros said in low-voiced Quenya, looking over at Elrond and Elros. “Before, they looked like little ghosts.”

Maglor wondered. Maybe they had become a little less pale, a little less haunted. It was not easy to tell when you saw them every day."I hope so," he whispered back. _Why do you suddenly care?_ Maglor briefly wanted to ask, before he realized he had been judging his brother too harshly. _Part of him cared deeply all along,_ he thought affectionately. _Not caring isn’t in his nature_

“My brother tells me you’re good readers, “ Maedhros began, addressing Elrond and Elros with the care one might take when approaching a frightened animal. “Which kind of books do you like?” As the boys timidly responded, Maglor couldn’t help but feel a rare glimmer of something like optimism.

 _If I’ve helped them at all, then let me keep helping them for as long as they need it,_ Maglor wished. _Let me help my brother, as much as I possibly can. Let there be something in me, in us, that isn’t just killing and woe._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm having a lot of fun working on this and I love reading your comments :D Stay safe and take care of yourself <3


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